Another Chance
by Lazy Vigilante
Summary: Draco Malfoy is being stalked by a murderer intent on destroying the Malfoy line. He finds help from the most unlikely of sources, and perhaps a bit more. DH, not epilogue, compliant. Please read and review. First Fic! Warning: a bit of slash on the side.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First time... all that jazz. Please review.

Warnings: language, lemons, violence. Also, this IS a Draco/Hermione fic, but don't expect it to get there anytime soon. But it will, oh will it ever.

Part One: Another Chance

Chapter One

"I've done the research. Beauxbatons has a ninety-five percent placement rate for their seventh years. I can transfer and earn an apprenticeship with one of the best potion masters on the Continent."

"Potions?"

"Yes, potions. It's… useful."

"Useful?" Narcissa Malfoy studied the boy, no, man who stood before her. Draco, her only son and her only family. He had grown much over the last two years, had shed most of his illusions and lost much of his hope, and nearly all of his pride. He was not the boy he had once been – now he was something better and yet worse. Draco had lived through the war, had fought on the wrong side, and had come out relatively unscathed. There had been a trial – for the both of them. And there had been exoneration. Lucius had also been tried - and incarcerated for his participation in the war. His finances had been seized and used as war reparations, leaving Narcissa and Draco without a home and forced to survive on the meager inheritance left her by her father. They had fallen far, but they were still Malfoys, still one of the most powerful wizarding families in Britain. Britain, the country her son was very clearly trying to escape.

"Draco, darling, I seem to remember that Beauxbatons potion master specializes in cosmetic potions. Is that really the field you wish to go into?"

Her son scowled, the implied slight hitting home.

"I can certainly specialize in a different field, Mother."

"But what? Beuaxbatons academics are hardly on par with Hogwarts – if you decide that cosmetic potions isn't in your future, what will you then do? Apprentice in fashion transfiguration and charms?"

"Mother."

"Draco, why not suggest that I allow you to attend Salem Academy in America – or Durmstrang. At least they have sufficiently challenging academics."

"Mother."

"Or better yet, why not remain at Hogwarts and attend your final year with students your own – students who will also be repeating the year. Your friends, your professors –"

"My enemies, mother. My enemies. What friends do I have left? What pureblood family even deigns to acknowledge us in public? I have no more friends. McGonagall runs Hogwarts now, and she would sooner see me crucified than allowed back on school property."

Narcissa was momentarily taken aback by the anger and despair in Draco's voice. She quickly marshaled her thoughts and buried her concern, as well as a fleeting desire to give in and allow her son to run away from his past.

"Hm. Cowardice, from you, Draco? You who have survived the Dark Lord? Afraid of an old witch and a handful of privileged brats who managed to escape service to the Death Eaters through duplicity and self-deceit? Your father would be ashamed. As am I."

"My father? My father – the man who couldn't protect his family? Couldn't protect you?" Unspoken went Draco's personal sense of betrayal. He had idolized his father and followed him blindly. It had been a mistake on Narcissa's part to bring him up now. As much as Draco had held Lucius in high regard, all of that had changed with the war, with Lucius' first incarceration. It had forced Draco to acknowledge the precarious position his family held at the top of British wizarding society, and it left him questioning his father, his beliefs, and even his own honor.

"Well, he can be ashamed. I can be called a coward – already I am called a coward and worse. Why do you deny me the chance to start over? Haven't I earned that much – the right to live free from you, from my father? From all the weight of our past?" There was real pain in his eyes now, and Narcissa felt an urge to cradle his fair head and soothe him. She restrained herself and forced a new edge into her voice.

"Draco, I have spent most of your life watching you and allowing your father to lead you along the path he thought best. I have watched as you have made one poor decision after another, all in an attempt to win your father's love and earn your peers admiration. I have watched you fail, Draco, I have watched you fall. And for the last seventeen years I have been powerless. But now your father is gone and you are my charge. I realize you are of age, I realize you are a grown man. But you are my son and you will do as I tell you. You will return to Hogwarts and finish your education or I will cut you off. You will not receive your inheritance for another two years – until that time you are dependent upon me. I will not allow you to run away from your past – simply because it isn't possible. Do you think that going to France will stop your nightmares? Do you think that you will repair the damage done to our reputation by creating exfoliation potions? If you run you will find yourself without family, without home, and without a future. I will not allow you to make any more poor choices, and I will not allow your father's mistakes to haunt your life any longer. Now go and finish packing. The train for Hogwarts leaves in four hours. When I return we will go to Diagon Alley and purchase your school supplies. Is that clear?"

Draco stood staring at her a moment longer, his gray eyes analyzing her for any weakness, and chance of getting his way. When he realized that her decision was final, he reluctantly nodded and left the room.

Narcissa released a shaky breath. Rarely had she raised her voice – and never without having to suffer severe consequences. She had not been exaggerating when she told Draco this was her first chance to decide her son's future. Yes, she had begged Snape to save her son – but that had been a course long ago decided by Lucius. She had been a mere pawn in that experience, much as Snape and Draco had been. They had all, she reflected, been pawns.

She turned to look at the painting of Lucius' father that hung over the mantle, the man's cold blue eyes looking down on her with disapproval.

"You ruined this family long ago, Sulla, now I will save it."

The painting refused to acknowledge her words, simply offered a bored yawn and turned away. Narcissa felt her spine stiffen at the insult. Sulla Malfoy have never approved of Narcissa, and she had never thought him to be more than a self-aggrandizing pompous ass. She crossed to the mantle and scooped a handful of floo powder from a crystal dish.

She drew a deep breath and steeled herself for one of the most difficult tasks she had ever faced. An instant later she threw the powder into the fire and shouted two words she never thought to say again.

"Grimmauld Place."

* * *

It was just a letter – a folded piece of parchment tied around the leg of an owl. It couldn't hurt her. It couldn't even give her much of a paper cut, the stationary was so fragile.

But Hermione sat at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place and stared at the paper, stared at the owl, too scared to move. It was morning, the last morning before she, Harry, and Ron would spend at Grimmauld before they boarded the Hogwarts Express and returned to school.

It was a dream that Hermione had nurtured all summer – the hope of returning to Hogwarts and completing her final year. In July she had received the letter that confirmed her hope – she was invited to return and complete her Seventh year. The letter contained the booklist for all seventh year courses, as well as a course schedule form for her to complete. The letter had not contained a congratulatory letter or a badge – something Hermione had received for her two years running. No mention of Head Girl. No mention even of returning as a Prefect. The news, or rather lack of news, had left Hermione curiously devoid of emotion. From her first year she had dreamed of being named Head Girl, had envisioned herself telling her parents. Later, after fifth year, those dreams had expanded to include the hope that Ron would be named Head Boy and that the shared responsibility would bring them closer together. That dream had been dashed by Voldemort – enough responsibility had been had by everyone during the last two years that Hermione was quite positive Ron would refuse the position even if it was offered to him.

So now, the day she would be returning to Hogwarts, a school owl sat in front of her porridge, bearing an envelope with the Hogwarts seal and patiently waiting for her to get over herself and untie it already.

With trembling hands she reached for the letter, wondering if it could be news expelling her – maybe Hogwarts simply didn't have the space for new first years and all of the other returning years. Or maybe McGonagall had found out her secret and – Hermione pushed that thought from her mind and finally untied the letter.

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger,_

_I hope this letter finds you well rested and eager to complete your final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_As you are aware, Hogwarts has accepted a new class of First Year students in addition to repeating last years classes for all years. With this new group of fifty students the school will be filled to capacity, even considering our losses earlier this year. This will be an added responsibility and burden – though a pleasurable one – for all of the faculty, and for the handful of students whose duty it is to safeguard the school and the students._

_In light of recent events, the process for appointing Prefects and Heads has been rethought – and choices that would have been obvious before are now much more difficult to make. Hogwarts, indeed the wizarding world, lay at a crossroads. After Voldemort's defeat the worst is over, but our world is still filled with racism, with ancient grudges and new struggles. Now, more than ever, Hogwarts must teach its students to respect others and appreciate different ways of living. That is now the primary duty of the Prefects and the Heads – to preserve harmony and promote inter-house friendships. We can no longer allow school rivalry to form deep rifts in our society, we are strained enough as it is and this will be a difficult recovery, for all of the war's participants._

_It has taken the faculty the majority of the summer to decide upon the Prefects, with these considerations in mind. Your appointment, in particular, was most difficult to decide upon._

_From your first days at Hogwarts it has been clear that your sense of duty and responsibility are deeply ingrained. Your care and attention to your classmates is commendable. However, you, more than most, have suffered during the war – and at the hands of classmates, and their families. This puts you in the most difficult position of having to put your own life back together, and watch as others, previously your enemies, struggle to do the same._

_The position of Head Girl is one of supreme importance: not only do the Head Boy and Girl liase with all of the Prefects, but the Heads are also invited to Staff Meetings, to discuss the well-being of the school and to provide insight. But now, more than ever, the position of Head Girl is a symbol: of trust, of good intentions, and of forgiveness. The Head Girl must be able to accept that the mistakes children make are merely that – and that only by offering an olive branch can a truce be formed._

_Miss Granger, it would be my honor to offer you the position of Head Girl, but you must be sure that you can withstand all of the duties of that particular post. If you do not feel able, please accept the position of Prefect, which you have earned and might find more suitable._

_Please respond by no later than noon._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Well, that hadn't been quite as bad as she feared. But still… McGonagall was offering her Head Girl, yet counseling her to take a lower position? Did McGonagall really feel that she couldn't handle being decent to the Slytherins? It was clear that was her implication – that she feared Hermione would hold a grudge against that particular house.

Hermione frowned as she considered the truth of McGonagall's assumption. Yes, from her first year she had suffered insults and injury from that house, and during the war she had been tortured by none other than Draco Malfoy's aunt – had been held hostage in Malfoy's home. But… but could she ever trust him? Them?

Her musings were interrupted by the entrance of Harry and Ron. The two boys were rubbing sleep from their eyes and dragging their heels. She bit back a smirk, knowing that they had mixed feelings about their imminent return to Hogwarts.

" Good morning, boys," she said, trying to sound as chipper as possible.

Ron winced at her tone.

"Morning," Harry mumbled as he slumped into the chair across from her.

Hermione rose from the table and placed her breakfast dishes into the sink. While up, she fetched both boys cups of coffee – a vice they had all picked up while on the run last year.

They drank the black liquid and only moments later started to look more human.

"Thanks," Harry said and saluted her with his now half empty mug.

Ron, however, was looking pensive as he cradled his mug and stared down at it.

"Ron, what's wrong?" She reached across the table and took one of his hands in her own.

He looked up reluctantly.

"Nothing. I just… it's our last year, but it's sort of our first, too, you know? No Voldemort. No Dumbledore. Everything's going to be different, isn't it?"

That silenced Hermione.

Then Harry snorted. "Not everything's going to be different. I'll bet Hermione already has half of her homework done AND she's got homework planners for the both of us, already half full."

That earned a smirk from Ron, but Hermione just shook her head.

"I'm afraid not, Harry. You two are on your own this year."

"What?!" That shocked outburst had come from Ron, who dropped her hand and finally sat up straight in his chair.

"I'm not going to monitor the two of you anymore. You are both adults. And without Voldemort lurking, there's nothing for you to concentrate on except for school. You shouldn't need my help."

"But –"

"She's right," Harry interjected. "But there IS more to concentrate on than just school. There's the future. We've got NEWTS this year, and it's our last year playing Quidditch. It's time to take some responsibility, I think."

Hermione beamed at Harry and he offered a small smile in return. Harry had done a great deal of maturing over the summer – without Voldemort or Dumbledore present to manipulate his life, Harry was, for once, left entirely to his own devices and able to decide his own fate. Hermione knew that he still thought about being an Auror, mostly because it was expected – and because he had already been promised a spot at the Academy – but it wasn't his dream. Harry, she knew, simply wanted to be his own man. And he had no idea how to go about it. She realized that Harry saw this next year as his chance to discover that. She started to tear up at the thought of how much he had lost over the years, and how long it had taken him to finally be free.

"Oh, don't start on that," Ron mumbled and awkwardly patted her back.

"I'm sorry. I'm just – Oh Harry, I'm so happy that you decided to come back this year."

"Oi, what about me? Aren't you happy for the chance to spend more time with your boyfriend too? After all, we get private rooms for Seventh Year…" He waggled his eyebrows, more in an attempt to be funny than seductive and Hermione laughed.

"That's my girl." He squeezed her shoulder briefly and kissed her cheek as he rose to serve himself breakfast.

"Say – who do you think they've found to replace all of the professors? 'S a lot of spots to fill."

Harry frowned as he considered the question.

"I hope they don't bring Slughorn back," he said at last, "one year was enough."

"I agree," Hermione was still sore about the fact that Harry had bested her in that class. "Did you ask Bill?"

Ron shook his head and sat back down, plate loaded with sausage and pancakes. "Nope. Fleur still isn't happy he took the Charms job, but, well, Mum's better with all of us closer to home. Shame Charlie's still in Romania…"

Hermione nodded. Personally, she was delighted to have Bill as their new charms professor – as one of Gringotts foremost curse breakers he had first hand experience with exotic and ancient charms. It was certain to be an interesting class this year.

But she too was curious – with McGonagall as the Headmistress they would have needed to replace her, as well as find a new potions master and defense professor. A lot of new faces, she concluded, and wondered how the returning students would react.

"If I was McGonagall I'd try to headhunt some of the younger Aurors – not many of them expected to fight an all out war just out of the Academy, and now that they've got all the experience, they're eager for more pay. But Dad says the Ministry is strapped for cash, so they aren't getting the raises they want."

"But Hogwarts can't be much better off," Harry pointed out.

Hermione shook her head. "Actually, most of the war reparations from the Trials were awarded to Hogwarts, as well as the victim's families. The school is a really important symbol, after all, and the only school in Britain of its caliber. So McGonagall probably CAN afford to woo some Aurors and other Ministry employees."

"I wonder –"

Harry was interrupted by a rush of green fire erupting from the fireplace. Instantly all three were on their feet, wands aimed at the intruder.

Narcissa Malfoy stood before them, delicately brushing soot from her immaculate robes and simultaneously shooting them all a look of superiority. It was almost comical, Hermione thought, that the witch could look so regal while dusting herself off.

"What do you want?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. She glanced over at him and realized that he wasn't just annoyed to have Narcissa in his kitchen, he was enraged.

Narcissa raised her chin as she took in the sharp edge of his voice.

"I have come with a request."

"Then get out and send an owl – or did the Ministry confiscate literally everything you own?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. Where was all of this rage coming from?

"Surely the great Harry Potter has a moment to spare for the woman who _saved his life_."

Harry snorted.

"I saved you and your pathetic son from rotting in Azkaban. We're even. I owe you nothing."

Narcissa's mask of indifference slipped and Hermione feared that something terrible was about to happen. She lowered her wand and glared at Ron until he did the same.

"Pardon our manners, Mrs. Malfoy, would you like some tea?"

Harry turned baleful eyes to Hermione.

"This is my house, Hermione. She isn't welcome. So, no, she doesn't want tea. She wants to leave RIGHT NOW before I do something I probably won't regret."

"I will leave, Harry Potter, but not before I say what I need to."

"Then hurry up, I've wasted enough of my life on your kind – I'm not going to waste any more time than I absolutely have to."

Narcissa's mask was firmly back in place by this point.

"I realize that all three of you have suffered greatly during the war. And I accept that some of that was my family's doing. I accept any blame, any vengeful thoughts you may have. But I… I beg you not to harbor such resentment for my son."

"Your son?!" Ron burst forward. "Your son who tried to kill us? Who tried to kill Dumbledore? That cowardly, sniveling bastard?"

"My son, who was a child raised by a… cruel man, in an unforgiving house with a long history of service to Dark Lords. My son, who had as little choice in his life as you, Harry Potter. My son, who truly regrets his actions. No, he is not innocent, but he is worthy of a second chance."

"Bullshit. He's a stain. He's completely worthless."

"I see." Narcissa drew herself to her full height. "It was a mistake to come here."

"Yeah, it was," Harry muttered.

"You, Harry Potter, are nothing more than a child of fortune. You are not a true and virtuous wizard, you just happened to be a victim of the Dark Lord instead of a victim of Dumbledore. You are narrow minded and conceited, and you will forever be cursed by your hatred and anger. I warn you – if you continue down your current path, you will turn out no better than the Dark Lord or Lucius, for you and your friends sound as unforgiving as the Death Eaters!" Her glare swept over all of them, landing on Hermione lastly. "I thought better of you than this." She said and then turned to floo away.

"Wait!" Hermione stepped forward and Narcissa turned.

"Please. We – I, I understand what you are asking. It's a fair request. All of us have committed acts we regret, and everyone deserves a second chance."

"What are you doing Hermione?" Ron grabbed her arm and pushed her behind him.

Narcissa's eyes, so cold and similar to her sons, held onto Hermione's for several heartbeats.

"Get out," Harry said, voice harsh.

Narcissa finally looked away from Hermione and sent one last glare in Harry's direction before she disappeared into the fireplace.

There was a moment of tense, thick silence. And then Harry and Ron turned on Hermione.

"What the hell were you thinking? You really expect us to be kind to that git? To accept him? He should be rotting in prison – he almost killed Katie Bell! He'd be a murderer if he wasn't such a coward!" Ron's face turned nearly purple as he continued to shout at her, his grip on her arm becoming painful.

"Hermione, you were tortured in his home."

"But not by him! Mrs. Malfoy is right – he didn't have any choice! You've met his father! Can you imagine Draco being anything but what he is, growing up with that? But he's free now. This is his chance to prove he's a decent person."

"He insulted and cursed us for seven years. Do you really think that was all to cover up his deep, sensitive side? Do you really think that with his father in prison and Voldemort dead he spent the summer rescuing puppies and volunteering at an orphanage?"

"I'm not saying he's a saint!" Hermione finally shook off Ron's arm. "But you are being just as prejudiced as he was!"

"As he is! As he IS, Hermione! Nothing has changed. When we get on the train this afternoon, he's going to be the same! He's going to call you a Mudblood and he's going to make some cut about Ron and then I'll have to fight him. Again." Harry shook his head. "No. I'm not going to give him a second chance. And the minute you lower your defenses, he'll crush you. And I won't defend you – it's time you accepted some responsibility as well, Hermione. You can't make the world into a utopia. Draco Malfoy isn't your next project. But watch out, or you just might become his. I'm going upstairs to finish packing. If we have any more visitors, kick them out, would you Ron?"

Harry stormed from the room, leaving Hermione rubbing her arm and Ron scowling.

After a moment Ron sighed.

"Mione, you shouldn't provoke him."

"Ronald he isn't a child. He's being just as bad as Malfoy ever was!"

"Don't say that," Ron hissed, grabbing her arms again. Hermione flinched away from his touch and he instantly dropped his hands back to his sides. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, you've got to understand, it's hard for Harry."

"Hard for Harry? I was tortured in that woman's house – I was nearly murdered!" Hermione felt herself start to grow hysterical.

"I know. I know! But, Hermione, he blames Malfoy for Dumbledore's death. And that fact that both of them got off free – it's eating him up. He defeated Voldemort and he expected justice to be served, but those two bought their way out."

"But he just said – "

"Scrimgour made him testify. Said he'd bring you and I up on charges of using illegal magic if he didn't."

"But that's blackmail!"

"Hermione, its politics. No one's as nice as you think they are. The ministry is corrupt – you know that."

"But, Ron, they really are victims! Mrs. Malfoy only did what she had to too save her son. Your Mum would have done the same thing."

"My Mum didn't marry an evil git."

"Ron – where's your compassion?"

"Hermione – where's your damn brain? Draco Malfoy won't change."

"And if he does?"

"What?"

"If he does change? If he isn't still horrible? What will you do then?"

Ron frowned.

"Hermione –"

"What will you do THEN, Ronald?"

"I guess I'll give him another chance, then. But it isn't going to happen. Hermione, he's not a good person. He's Slytherin, for Merlin's sake."

"Houses aren't everything, Ron. They won't even mean anything after this year."

"Yeah, well. You shouldn't get your hopes up too high. You aren't wrong all that often, Hermione, but this is gonna be one of those times."

Hermione raised her chin.

"No, Ron, it won't be."

* * *

Hermione had used Pig to send her reply to McGonagall – that morning's confrontation with Mrs. Malfoy and the boys had decided the matter for her – and then gone to apologize to Harry. She resented doing it, but knew that he didn't regret his actions, and that having him angry with her wouldn't serve any purpose.

They met Ginny at the train platform, and her reunion with Harry was so embarrassingly affectionate that both Hermione and Ron had to turn away.

After several minutes Ginny released Harry and gave Hermione a hug.

"I missed being with you three this summer."

"Your Mum really wanted you home, though, and I know it was good for her – to have you there."

Ginny nodded.

"I know. But, it's not the same home it used to. " Hermione pulled Ginny in for another hug, heart aching for her and for Ron – they had lost so much in the war.

Ginny gave her a sad smile and then slipped free of Hermione to link hands with Harry. Hermione couldn't but smile herself as she saw Harry's face light up at Ginny's touch. He deserved to be happy – they both did.

The foursome went in search of an empty compartment, eventually finding one near the back of the train. Just as they had finished storing their luggage overhead Hermione looked out to see none other than Draco Malfoy walking past. His cold gaze swept the room, landing on each of them by turns.

"Hello, Malfoy," Hermione hesitantly greeted him, noticing that despite his usual immaculate appearance – gold hair brushed back, robes clean and pressed – he seemed ill at ease.

His face began to twist into its customary sneer, but he stopped himself. After a tense moment of silence he continued past their compartment.

"Git," Ginny muttered, already curled against Harry.

Hermione shared a look with Ron, but he only shrugged.

"That didn't prove anything," he said.

"Exactly," she agreed and sat down beside him, allowed him to put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close to him. He snorted and shook his head.

"You're impossible, Hermione Granger."

She smiled up at him and pushed all thoughts of Draco Malfoy from her mind. This was her last train ride with Ron, Harry, and Ginny, and she couldn't think of a more pleasant way to spend it than side by side with Ron, trading gossip with Ginny while the boys played chess.

Perhaps, Hermione thought as Ron whooped with laughter after besting Harry three games in a row, they all deserved some happiness.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you Nolita and Minute-Mist. Your reviews are much appreciated.

Again… any reviews – even the ones that tell me to start over, are appreciated.

Warning: This chapter starts off a bit slow as we finish up the exposition and some necessary background – but man does it get intense by the end. From here on things will be picking up in pace quite a bit as well.

Another Chance

Chapter Two

The great hall had changed. No longer were there four longs tables, each for a house, instead there were nearly forty shorter tables, clustered in a seeming random pattern. The staff table was still at the front of the hall, still elevated, still filled with tired, scowling faces for the most part.

When Draco finally shouldered his way through the crowd of students standing at the entrance to the Great Hall, clearly at a loss as to how to proceed, and spied the new seating arrangements, a handful of students had already taken seats.

He noticed that Potter and company had taken a table off to one side of the room – the same side of the hall that the Slytherin table had once been set up. He shook his head, realizing that it was likely paranoia that had them sitting there – doubtless none of them wanted to expose themselves on all sides. He scanned the rest of the hall for any of his… acquaintances. Theo Nott and Pansy Parkinson had taken up residence towards the back of the hall, several tables removed from Potter. Nott caught his eye and sneered – he had made it clear on several occasions that he was done pandering to Draco and now thought himself to be the Prince of Slytherin – had even gone so far as to take up with Pansy to prove the point. Draco thought that Nott was welcome to any of his leftovers. Things had changed, and he was ready to move on.

Suddenly there was a familiar presence at his shoulder. He looked over to see Blaise Zabini, tanned and confident after spending the summer in Italy.

"What do you make of this?" He murmured to Draco.

"McGonagall. She never did approve of the house rivalry. Probably thinks we'll start sitting with other houses."

Blaise snorted.

"More like we'll just break into smaller cliques."

"Still…"

Blaise nodded.

"Well, shall we revert to type or set a new example?"

Draco arched an eyebrow.

Blaise had long lived by his own rules: as a foreign wizard he wasn't as embroiled in Voldemort's war or the cut-throat social circles of wizarding Britain. He became Draco's friend because he wanted to – not because his parents forced it on him. Blaise was the quintessential Slytherin, but he didn't approve of his house's racism or tendency to breed sycophants. He was a powerful wizard and from an important family; he would make a mark on the world and he would bend others to his will – but he wouldn't do it through murder and intimidation. Blaise's sense of personal honor attracted Draco, who had been raised with a very different idea of the world. They were the smartest of their year – Granger excepted – and despite several Ravenclaw's attempts to surpass their academic prowess they had made a name for themselves as two of the most brilliant students in school. They challenged and supported each other, and to Draco, it was the only worthwhile relationship he had ever formed.

The fact that Blaise still accepted him – didn't hold his family's fall from grace or his own failure against him – was perhaps the only reason he was able to return to Hogwarts at all. Well, that and the fact that his mother had forced him to. That still smarted.

"We can join Nott – " Draco shook his head at that suggestion – " sit on our own. Or…"

"I'm not going to sit with Potter," Draco said.

Blaise smirked.

"I was thinking about a few Ravenclaws – Eleanor Cartwright and Stephan Cornfoot – from Arthimancy?" Blaise jerked his head in their direction. The two Ravenclaws were seated towards the front of the hall, in the center of the room. Not a location Draco would have chosen. But….

Draco shrugged.

"Lead on. Perfect location for an attack – not a wall in sight and sixty feet from the nearest escape."

Blaise frowned.

"Stop thinking like that. It's over." He briefly touched Draco's shoulder, and the blonde was forced to look his friend in the eye and nod. Easy enough for Blaise to tell him to forget– he had been able to remain neutral during the war.

The two Slytherins made the long, awkward walk over to Cornfoot and Cartwright. The four students considered each other for a moment, and then Cornfoot gestured to the empty chairs.

"Please join us, at least you'll provide entertaining dinner conversation."

Blaise smirked as he sat.

"Eleanor, you're looking lovely. Did you have an enjoyable summer?"

Eleanor blushed and completely melted under the charm Blaise directed at her.

"It was wonderful. We went to Paris and I toured the Sorbonne's libraries – I'm thinking of attending there next fall. Their apprenticeship programs are so challenging."

"And illustrious. If you managed to secure yourself an Arthimancy post there Gringotts would fall all over themselves to hire you after your Mastery."

Eleanor nodded.

"Exactly. And you, Blaise? It seems Italy treated you as well as always."

"Indeed. Did some apprenticeship scouting of my own. Master Fiorello has consented to accepting my apprenticeship in the fall."

"Fiorello the Transfiguration expert? Impressive." This was from Stephan, whose pride was as legendary as his genius. Draco was willing to bet he didn't have such a plush offer lined up for himself, and that it was jealous, not happiness, that had him offering Blaise a mock toast from their empty goblets.

It was several minutes later before the Great Hall was filled with returning students and McGonagall had taken her place at the front of the hall.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," she said, voice magically magnified. There was a cheer in the hall - no doubt from the Gryffindor's gathered by the far wall. "We have all lived through times of triumph and despair. This year marks the opportunity for a new beginning, another chance for all of us to move forward and embrace a new future and new possibilities." She paused and drew a deep breath before continuing. "Hogwarts has always been divided – the four houses of Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor serving as homes to each student who admires the qualities of their house. And while that is noble, it is also unjust. No longer can the wizarding world afford to be so divided. No longer can we allow our differences to mark us. Now we must move forward, together, or risk another war such as we just ended. I have abolished the House tables. The dormitories and common rooms are still divided by house, but in the Great Hall, in all classes, I encourage you to forge new bonds with members of other houses. Outside these walls, the world awaits you – and it is a dark place yet. Only together can we prevent the rise of another Voldemort." She looked down briefly as the hall fell into a somber silence. "That does not mean that House Pride, the House Cup, and Quidditch count for nothing. It is simply my wish that we see those for what they are – childhood competitions. Now please rise and greet our new class of first years. After the sorting I will introduce our new staff and our prefects."

"Are we even going to eat?" Blaise muttered to Draco.

"Doesn't look like it."

The hall rose as the doors opened, ready to greet the new class with as much enthusiasm as McGongall's words had left them with.

Had first years ever looked younger and more vulnerable? Draco wondered as the timid line of students marched to the front of the hall.

"Tiny little buggers," Blaise remarked and Draco nodded at the vocalization of his own thoughts.

McGonagall gestured for the hall to sit, and placed the Sorting Hat upon the stool that each student in the hall had occupied at one point.

"Abrams, Mary." The hat called out.

Draco and Blaise shared a look.

"Guess it thought McGonagall had said all that needed to be said?"

"Likely it wants to give us the chance to eat," Draco said in response.

"Considerate of it."

"Ravenclaw!" The hat shouted. The hall applauded, and Draco was surprised that nearly all of the students – not just Ravenclaws – clapped for the girl as she stood proudly. Then there was an awkward moment as Mary tried to figure out where to go next.

Across the table Stephan rolled his eyes, then stood and whistled.

"Over here, young Miss Abrams! Come sit with the smartest students in the school!"

There was some good natured heckling at this, but Mary lit up and practically skipped to the table.

It was a good example for Stephan to set – from then on, after every student's sorting, they were "chosen" to join a table by one of their new housemates. It seemed to put the young students at ease, and it kept alive some of the House pride and competition that McGonagall had so recently frowned upon.

When at long last the students had been sorted, McGonagall cleared the stool away and took her place at the staff table. She gestured to her right, and a man wearing gray dress robes stood.

"And now I will introduce our new staff members. Master Tiberius Smith. Master Smith will be teaching Transfiguration, and joins our staff after having spent several years in Russia, working at the elite Kremlin Institute of Magic."

"Explains why he's so pale," Blaise muttered. Draco rolled his eyes.

"We can't all be swarthy Italians," he returned.

Blaise smirked and sent an appraising look at Draco's own rather pale skin.

"Too right you are, mate."

Still, Draco thought as he looked over Smith, the man was pale. His features were sharp and chiseled, and the short bow he developed to the hall before taking his seat again left a clear impression on Draco. The man was economical – he clearly didn't waste a moment, a thought, or a gesture.

"Next, may I present Master Vindictus Viridian, who joins the staff this year as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and the new head of Slytherin house."

Draco turned to Blaise, waiting for his friend to make a snide comment about the new professor – and was shocked to see him looking slightly pensive, a smirk growing on his face. Draco looked back at the staff table and at the tall wizard arrayed in dragon skin pants and a thick, dark blue tunic. Clearly this wizard meant business – he reminded Draco a bit of Kingsley Shacklebolt or even Mad Eye, he looked so fearsome and intent. But he was young – certainly younger than Draco thought the author of their Defense textbook should be – and looked to be a few years younger than Snape had been. His hair was short and dark, brushed carelessly off his forehead to one side. Even from this distance, Draco could notice the startling color of his eyes: blue, paler than Draco's own, a shade so light they made him look mad.

"Blaise…" he hissed.

"What?" Blaise turned a patently innocent expression to him.

"Come off it. There's no way."

Now Blaise's smirk grew to epic proportions.

"Really? Care to lay a wager on that?"

The one truly exploitable weakness that Blaise possessed was his desire to gamble.

Draco shook his head.

"No way. I don't let my friends take sucker bets."

But Blaise just continued to smirk and turned his attention back to the staff table. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Muggle Studies has been reinstituted for this academic year – and all following academic years." McGonagall paused for a moment, and Draco felt nearly all eyes in the hall fall on him. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look ahead at McGonagall. "Professor Alice Avery will take up this post."

Blaise sent Draco a sharp look as the hall applauded rather somberly.

"Bill Weasley has consented to join our staff this year after Professor Flitwick announced his retirement, as the Charms Professor and head of Gryffindor." The red haired man stood and received thunderous applause. He had always been a popular student – and his legendary exploits as a curse breaker, coupled with his role in the war and his obvious and personal suffering had clearly garnered him popular support.

McGonagall waited until the applause had died down before gesturing to the last new face at the staff table. Dressed in dark, crimson robes, the man at the far end of the table rose slowly. His features resembled nothing if not a hawk: sharp, slightly hooked nose, piercing dark eyes, and his hair was pulled back from his face, revealing the sharp angle of his cheekbones and jaw. There was something… familiar about him.

"Lastly may I present Master Edward Prince, who will be taking over as both Potions Professor and the new head of Ravenclaw. Master Prince joins our staff after several years spent in South America, studying aboriginal magic among the Indian tribes of Brazil."

Interesting staff, Draco thought, his gaze still fixed on Prince as he tried to figure out when he had seen the man before.

"Not a Gildroy Lockhart or an Umbridge among them," Stephan said across the table.

"And Master Prince is brilliant," Eleanor added, clearly thrilled with her new head of house, "he went to Oxford with my cousin – and then he apprenticed to Nicholas Flamel, one of his very last apprentices. And I've read all about his work in Brazil – it's simply fascinating."

It suddenly hit Draco that Eleanor Cartwright was exactly like Hermione Granger – if Granger had been sorted into Ravenclaw, she would no doubt have turned out as confident and talkative as Cartwright, and being among her intellectual peers would have likely killed off her annoying need to prove herself as well. No doubt she would have done far better in Ravenclaw than Gryffindor. However, without her it was impossible that Potter or Weasley would have ever made it this far through their lives. That thought had him turning his head to study the Gryffindor girl across the hall.

She had changed over the last year – all of them had. She looked far more like a woman than a girl, as did most of the returning seventh years, and the school robes she wore looked almost perverse. Sometime over the summer she had obviously decided to cut off her hair and learn how to use a brush – her hair was now chin length, and still curled wildly, but no longer frizzed out into a birds nest. She had put on weight since he had last seen her, and it served her well. No longer was her skin nearly translucent, or her features sharp and thin. She looked healthy. Except her eyes. On the train he had noticed something – recognized the look of a forlorn animal in her eyes that he saw reflected in his own mirror every morning. Granger had survived the war, but she certainly had not come out in one piece.

McGongall cleared her throat and all eyes returned to her.

"Hurry this up, for the love of Merlin," Blaise murmured. "Some of us have to EAT in order to live."

Draco smirked at his friend's sense of melodrama.

"And lastly, before we start the Welcoming Feast, I would like to introduce this year's prefects and Head Boy and Girl. Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger, please rise."

Draco arched an eyebrow at his friend, but the Italian boy just smirked and stood.

"This year's Head Boy and Head Girl will face new challenges, and I am confident that Miss Granger and Mr Zabini are more than up to the task." There was applause – nearly universal – as the two students nodded at each other across the hall. Blaise was liked by most Ravenclaws and Slytherins, while Granger was the Princess of Gryffindor and universally adored – and feared – by the Hufflepuffs. A good combination, even if the Ravenclaws did resent Granger for her academic achievements.

McGonagall waited for the applause to die down, but when Blaise made to sit back down she gestured for him to remain standing.

"This year we will be paring down the number of prefects – only two seventh years from each house. In the interest of… recovery and encouraging the younger students to focus on their academic studies. Next year, however, we plan to return to the full amount of prefects." McGongall paused and seemed to be frowning to herself.

"Neville Longbottom and Lavender Brown will serve as Gryffindor Prefects." Draco looked across the hall at the two students. Longbottom had been one of the few to come out of the war for the better – he was more confident and proud than Draco had ever dreamed he would be. " Eleanor Cartwright and Stephan Cornfoot will serve as Ravenclaw prefects." Draco looked back at his table mates and was amused by their exchange of smug looks. " Wayne Hopkins and Susan Bones will serve as the Hufflepuff prefects." Both students stood proudly, and Draco felt himself, and the entire hall, tense in anticipation of the next two names. Draco knew that no matter who was named, people would be upset. He had overheard a lot of angry conversations on the train – most of them ending with the fervent wish that none of the Slytherins be allowed back. He knew that many thought his whole house – and he in particular – deserved to be rotting in Azkaban. He looked up at his friend, saw that Blaise too had tensed and seemed ready to defend whoever was named Slytherin prefect. His hand had even drifted down to his wand.

"And from Slytherin, our last two prefects this year are Daphne Greengrass and Draco Malfoy."

There was a roar of discontent, and Draco was reluctant to stand. But then he drew a deep breath, reminded himself that he was a MALFOY and that everyone at Hogwarts could go and fuck themselves. He stood beside Blaise and weathered the verbal abuse that was literally hurled in his direction. He refused to look anyone in the eye, simply let his gaze scan the hall – until his eyes locked on with Granger's.

She gave him a nod, a small smile, and started to clap.

It took a moment for her clapping – so small and distant compared to all of the angry shouting – registered with anyone else. And then Blaise started to clap, and then Eleanor and Stephan. After a few more moments the rest of the hall quieted, shocked, and the Hufflepuff prefects as well as Daphne joined in. It took a furious glare from Hermione, and what looked like a muttered threat to permanently disfigure Lavender – before the two Gryffindor prefects at last joined in. And then Draco did the only thing he could think of. He started clapping himself.

The hall was literally catatonic for five minutes before McGonagall cleared her throat, silencing the ten students who were clapping and gathering everyone's attention once more.

"And now, please enjoy the feast."

There was a flourish of magic and then the hall was filled with the aroma of rich, Hogwarts food. Draco remained standing, even as the rest of the prefects and Blaise took their seats. Across the hall, Hermione Granger was still watching him. He nodded to her – the gesture so simple and yet incredibly difficult for him. Never before had Draco felt more obligated to demonstrate his gratitude, and never had he been so incapable of doing so.

He sat down and began the series business of tucking in.

"Completely bizarre, that Granger girl," Blaise commented after nearly ten minutes of silence – he was serious about being starved, it seemed.

"Good example," Stephan said from across the table.

Eleanor nodded and looked at Draco. "And the right one," she said, her dark eyes piercing.

Draco found himself unable to speak.

"Well, young Miss Abrams, tell us about yourself," Stephan commanded the first year girl. She had been looking terrified until that moment, but the chance to talk brightened her face considerably.

"My mother was American – and when Voldemort returned my Dad moved us to the States. We just moved back two weeks ago – I've been begging for years that I be allowed to attend Hogwarts. No other school can match it. And I want to be captain of the Quidditch Team, and Head Girl, and I'll get more OWLS and NEWTS than anyone ever has before."

"Whoa, sure you shouldn't have been in Slytherin, that's quite ambitious of you." Blaise sent her a rakish wink and the girl turned red.

Draco couldn't help but chuckle, and even Cornfoot shook his head in appreciation.

* * *

The rest of the feast passed in relative calm, at the end McGonagall promised to pass out their class schedules the next morning at breakfast and entreated all of the students to rest well and think harmonious thoughts. Clearly the reaction to Draco's Prefect status had been unsettling for her.

After nearly half an hour of good food and witty conversation with their table mates – and the obvious development of Mary Abrams obsession with Blaise, Draco rose from the table.

Blaise stood as well, bid the three Ravenclaws good night, and clapped Draco on the back.

"Fancy taking a stroll to the Head's room so I can rub your face in my good fortune?" He asked, cocky grin firmly planted on his face.

Draco snorted a laugh and sent an appraising glance across the hall. Blaise's intention was obvious – he wanted Draco with him while everyone settled into their rooms so that he could avoid getting caught up in a group of students eager to physically demonstrate how little they approved of McGonagall's choice.

Draco didn't even need to consider the offer.

"No thanks, maybe tomorrow after classes. I've got to unpack."

Blaise nodded, grin disappeared.

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

Draco watched his friend cross the hall to stand by Granger's table. A moment later, the two of them left the hall. Draco scanned the hall for Daphne and saw that she was already gathering the Slytherin first years. He made to walk over to her, but she looked up, caught his eye, and immediately looked at Theo Nott.

Draco followed her gaze and noticed the complacent, anticipatory look on Nott's dark face that reminded Draco all too much of Voldemort's face just before he started to torture one of his followers.

He looked around, saw that most of the Slytherin sixth and seventh years were already gone – actually, only Nott, Pansy, Daphne and himself remained from the upper years.

There was clearly an ambush prepared for him. Draco drew a deep breath and made his way over to Daphne.

"Need any help?"

"What are you doing?" She hissed. "They're going to kill you."

Draco laughed.

"I doubt that."

She shot him a look of extreme pity.

"Draco – Nott's out for your blood. He and all the other boys are – "

"Daphne, I know. You really expect me to run away from them?"

"You aren't the Prince of Slytherin anymore, Draco."

"I'm still Draco Malfoy," he said, an edge in his voice that made her blink and look away.

"Good luck, then. You'll need it. I – they're waiting outside of the common room. I'm supposed to take the first years in, then – "

"Thanks, Daphne."

Draco watched her lead the first years out, and then turned his attention to Nott and Pansy.

The pair sauntered towards him.

"Fancy some company?" Pansy asked, batting her eyelashes and looking deceptively innocent.

Draco shrugged. "Why not? How was your summer?"

The three started walking towards the Slytherin common room, and Draco maneuvered himself to be on one side of Pansy, with Nott on the other. If it came down to it, he was more than willing to push the girl into any of Nott's curses.

"Decent," she allowed, looking over at Nott questioningly. Clearly Draco wasn't following their script.

"Glad to hear it. You're certainly looking well. Got a good, tan I see. You always did look… delicious with a tan." He leered at her, somewhat gratified when she flushed with pleasure. Nott, on the other hand, looked ready to murder him.

Which was sort of how he had been looking all night.

"Well, our new professors seem intriguing, wouldn't you say?" It was easy for Draco to fall back into his role of Alpha male – and he could see that Pansy, having trained herself over the last seven years to fall all over him, was falling back into the old routine easily. Nott sneered as he noticed the change in dynamics.

Pansy opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Nott grabbed her arm and hauled her close to his side. The contact seemed to refresh her memory and she glared over at Draco.

"Vindictus looks the right Slytherin," Draco continued, knowing that keeping them off balance was key. Up ahead he could see the final set of stairs before they arrived at the common room. He imagined he could hear the heavy breathing of the sixth and seventh year Slytherins, all lying in wait for him. His own heartbeat started to increase. This was it – potentially his last moments on earth.

For all of his bravado, Draco was very aware that sixteen trained, war-weary Slytherins were more than a match for his own skills. He was doomed – but that didn't mean he was going down without a fight.

* * *

Blaise Zabini was thoughtful by nature, prone to analyze a situation from every angle before actually acting. As a child, this tendency had often led to his peers mistaking his inaction for incompetence or stupidity – they almost immediately saw the error of their ways as he surpassed them academically and socially. Blaise was gifted with natural charm, cultivated over the years in part by being Draco's friend – they liked to compete, and competing for attention and companionship was just another element to their relationship. This charm allowed him to ingratiate himself with his professors and peers alike, and he was often thought of as the only 'decent' Slytherin by the other houses.

Last year, that disastrous farce of academics, had been difficult for Blaise. He had tried to keep a wide berth from everyone – even, to some extent, Draco. His views on the war were clear: he thought Voldemort, for all of his supposed genius, was an incompetent moron who needed to read Machiavelli and learn some leadership skills. But he couldn't go around telling anyone this – Draco knew, of course – just as Blaise knew that Draco had thrown up the first time, after every time after, he had been forced to cast cruciatus on someone.

Blaise didn't see it as a weakness of Draco's, not really. Draco was more like Blaise than the blonde knew – they both preferred the subtle and well aimed verbal barb to any physical insult. Blaise saw Draco's inability to use the Unforgivables without suffering himself as an extension of this, and it strengthened Blaise's resolve to support Draco through the war and after.

And now was definitely the after. And Draco needed his support now more than ever – his pride be damned.

So Blaise decided to play the role of the better man and walked over to join Hermione Granger at the end of the Welcoming Feast, all the while watching Draco out of the corner of his eye, as well as the upper year Slytherins. It should have been clear to a blind infant that something was afoot.

Granger looked up when his shadow descended on her, eyes momentarily widening. She looked away a second later, her head turned in Draco's direction. An action that intrigued Blaise greatly.

"Hermione," he decided to add some charm to this encounter – it would help to soften her up and would add fuel to the fire that was Ron Weasley's jealous temper. "Would you like an escort to our new chambers?" He held his arm out to her and she smiled.

"Why thank you, Blaise." She placed her napkin on the table and stood.

"But, Mione –" Weasley looked nearly purple, and Blaise had to wonder if it was healthy for him to get this emotional.

"Ronald, I already told you, I'm very tired and I want to unpack before I go to bed. I will see you tomorrow. Good night Ginny, Harry."

"Careful with that one," Harry said, eyes locked on Blaise.

Blaise fought down a surge of annoyance at Potter and merely arched an eyebrow.

"I intend to be," he assured Potter. "I even promise to heal all the bruises."

Potter and Weasley were on their feet in an instant.

"Boys, honestly, he's joking. As in using sarcasm to goad you into acting like idiots, which you aren't. All of you need to grow up" She turned on her heel, ignoring Blaise, and stormed from the hall.

Blaise took a second to send the Gryffindor's a mock salute, and then went after, trying to look as casual as he could.

He finally caught up with her on the third floor – she must have been running.

"Granger," he called.

She stopped and turned to glare at him, arms crossed over her chest.

"Zabini?"

She was really pissed, he realized, and almost regretted baiting Potter and Weasley as obviously as he had. He decided to go for broke, knowing that she was on the verge of walking away from him.

"I need your help."

She arched an eyebrow, and the skeptical look on her face almost made him smile. She really wasn't as Gryffindor as she made out to be.

"Really? Have you run out of fodder for your jokes and insults?"

"Hardly. It's Draco."

At the Slytherin's name she lost her defiant posture and walked closer to him.

"Is he – how could he possibly need my help?"

"He doesn't yet, but in about twenty minutes he's going to need both of our help. I'm rubbish at healing charms, and he's going to need to sleep in our common room tonight."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Some of the defiance, and most of the skepticism, was back.

Blaise scowled. He hated being blunt.

"In about five minutes Draco will walk into a trap, planned rather inexpertly by Theo Nott, and he's going to be lucky to come out of it alive. Nearly all of sixth and seventh year will be there – and every one of them has a reason to curse him, and to beat the piss out of him."

Hermione had gasped at his first sentence, and by the end she had her wand out.

"Then we've got to stop them. They can't do that! It isn't fair."

"Actually, no. We can't stop them."

"What are you talking about? Are we too late? Where – the common room? I can't even get in there. Come on, Zabini, stop standing around!" She started to charge past him.

Blaise sighed and grabbed her, none too gently.

"No, we can't. And they aren't in the common room. I'll bet they're just outside of it, though. Somewhere in the dungeons. We can't interfere."

"Why the hell not? A student's life is in danger!"

"Granger. Calm down and use your damn brain. If we interfere – aside from the fact that we'll be facing four to one odds – it won't stop. They'll just attack him again, and if stop that, it will happen again. We can't stop this from happening."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" She was furious, and he knew she still thought they should rush to his rescue now.

"We hide and we wait. We can help him after, but we've got to let him fight this battle."

"But –"

"I'll obliviate you right now and go find someone else. I swear on my mother's grave that I will. Because if you rush down there you WILL get him KILLED. Maybe not today, but sometime soon the very fact that Hermione Granger tried to break up Slytherin revenge is going to put Nott in such a foul mood that he will KILL Draco – and probably you as well. You I don't give a damn about, but I won't let Draco be killed by your stupidity. Now swear to me that you will do as I say."

Granger looked torn.

"But Nott wasn't even a Death Eater!"

"Wake up, Granger! A tattoo doesn't make you evil. Nott's as bad as they come, he just wasn't valuable enough for the Dark Lord to target."

Granger drew a deep breath, her brown eyes misty with what Blaise hoped were NOT tears.

"Okay. I swear. I'll do as you say, I won't interfere with the fight. Not unless they use an Unforgivable." She raised her chin, defiant to a fault.

Blaise was out of time and he groaned in exasperation.

"Fine. But only if it's an Unforgivable. Now can we please go? We haven't much time."

Granger nodded in agreement and together they practically sprinted down to the dungeons.

It had taken far too long to convince Granger to assist him, and Blaise was worried it would be too late by the time they got there. Already he envisioned Draco lying on the cold stone floor, bleeding to death. Just like Snape.

* * *

Draco took the first punch without flinching, and managed to grin even as he felt his lip split from the hit.

"Harper, you hit like a girl," Draco said and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the sixth year.

The other boy's face went red and he charged at Draco again, this time landing three punches in quick succession to Draco's gut.

"I'm done with this slime," he then announced, kicking Draco's knee cap for good measure before stalking to the side.

Draco laughed, then coughed at the sudden flair of pain.

"That's it? You've got the staying power of a Hufflepuff, Harper. No wonder the Dark Lord never bothered with you."

With a shout of rage Harper was on him again, pushing Draco back against the stone wall of the corridor and slamming his head against it.

"You know nothing you pathetic excuse for a pureblood. You're a coward and a weakling." Harper spat in his face, shoved him again, and then walked away for good.

Draco righted himself as much as he could – Pansy had semi-immobilized him with a sticking spell after they had finally disarmed him – and offered a bloody grin to his peers.

"Well, who's next?"

He surveyed the group, thinking that, as much as they had him outnumbered, he hadn't done too badly before they finally got him. Nott was leaning against the opposite wall, clutching his freshly healed shoulder – fortunate for him that Millicent had learned the counter –curse for sectumsempra – while the rest of the Slytherin's weren't much better off. Millicent herself was still trying to figure out how to un-jinx her wand-arm – currently it was broken in at least seven places, the bones sticking out of her skin in a grotesque parody of a forest. That one Draco had learned from Bellatrix, last year, after being forced to watch her torture several muggles. Pansy he had gone easy on – boils covered her face and every visible part of her body, erupting periodically and creating new boils. It wouldn't leave permanent scars, but it would be painful and difficult to heal. Harper had gotten the worst of Draco's curses – hence his first shot at hitting Draco now that he had been subdued – and even now was limping back to stand by Nott, clutching his left thigh and letting out a hiss of pain as the slow-acting curse moved through his body. That curse Draco had learned from Voldemort himself – one of the Dark Lord's favorites. It attached itself to the victim's nerve endings and traveled it's way up the body, sending random, seizure inducing spasms of pain. Draco had watched Voldemort use the curse of Lucius, had FELT Voldemort use it on himself. He knew the pain Harper was in, and he still felt justified in the use of the curse. If his classmates wanted to play dirty, then he would gladly accept their terms. Unlike them, Draco had had a year's exposure to the Death Eaters and Voldemort camped in his HOME. His nightmares were more gruesome than anything they could do to him.

Vaisey stepped forward. Vaisey, who had craved Draco's position as Slytherin seeker since second year. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at Draco.

"Well? What meager knowledge of Dark Arts have you managed to cram into your thick skull, Vaisey? Best make it good – wouldn't do to embarrass yourself in front of everyone by using Jelly-Legs, would it?"

Vaisey practically growled at him.

"Mano fratumata!"

Draco felt instant and immediate pain, surpassed only by his horror, as every bone in both of his hands splintered. He could feel each fragment stab into the skin, could feel his nerves explode in pain.

He groaned and then bit down on his tongue as hard as possible. No matter the pain, he refused to allow even a whimper to escape his lips. Seventeen years as his father's son had taught him that much – don't ever show them how much it hurts, don't ever give away the advantage of your tolerance.

But damn it all – his hands! Draco thought frantically of any counter curse for his hands, anything that would repair them as see him as good as new. He could think of nothing and he felt a well of despair start to form in the pit of his stomach. No more Quidditch. No more Potions. They might as well break his wand and kill him. He was worthless now.

It was at that moment that Daphe came back out of the portrait hole. She looked around in disgust – gagged when she took in Draco's appearance – before turning on Nott.

"Enough. The first years are sorted, you've had your fun, leave it be before you do enough damage to bring the teachers into this. Professor Vindictus said he'd be here by ten to speak with us – that gives you twenty minutes to clean up." She swept her gaze to Draco, then back to Nott. "And this stops here, is that clear? You've had your revenge."

Nott sneered at being told what to do, but under Daphe's direct gaze he relented.

"Very well. We're done here." He sent Draco one last glare and then marched into the Slytherin common room, the rest following behind him.

Daphne lingered for a moment.

"I can't help you."

He knew that, but he couldn't open his mouth or he might start screaming. The pain in his hands had intensified, and without the adrenaline rush from fighting, the rest of his injuries were catching up with him.

Daphne cast finite incantatem at him and then disappeared back into the common room.

Draco was able to hold himself up for all of ten seconds, and then his legs collapsed. He tried to roll as he fell, cradling his hands close to his body, and was only partially successful. He landed on his side, and the cry of pain he released was entirely beyond his control. And that was his undoing.

The sound of his own heartbeat, the blood pumping through his veins, the dozen or so curses still affecting him, the knowledge that after tonight his life was forfeit. It was too much. He drew in a deep and breath and clenched his teeth so tightly he thought he might dislocate his jaw. He refused to give in.

And then he heard her voice.

"You complete idiot! He's dead!"

He turned his head, caught sight of Hermione Granger running towards him, Blaise Zabini right behind her.

"Clearly he isn't dead," Zabini deadpanned as they got closer.

Granger came to a sliding stop, landing on her knees by his side and bumping his shoulder. That send a whole new wave of pain through his body and he finally gave in and let out a howl of pain.

"Oh my god. Oh god. Draco – I –" She reached for him and just as he lost consciousness Draco realized that her skirt had ridden up.

His last sight was of her red lacy knickers, and his last thought was the realization that Granger was a closet hedonist.


	3. Chapter 3

Another Chance

Chapter Three

By the time they made it to the fourth floor and the Heads common room, Hermione was on the verge of having a panic attack. Draco, levitated by Blaise and concealed by a charm Hermione had developed last year while in the forest, looked near death. His skin was impossibly pale, and the dried blood on his face, hands, and throat looked almost black. His body shook with the after-effects of several curses, and she was positive he was suffering from internal bleeding.

She had seen worse, of course. But that had been last year – before. During the war. It wasn't supposed to be like that anymore. Students shouldn't need to be afraid that their peers might do something like this to them.

If nothing else, Draco's current condition cemented Hermione's resolve to befriend the Slytherin and treat all other houses equally. That Draco's own housemates had done this to him – it was horrifying.

They finally got Draco into the common room and settled on a hospital bed that Hermione transfigured from one of the pillows. Working silently, she and Blaise stripped off Draco's clothes and started running diagnostic spells.

"Lot of Dark Magic," Blaise mused as he watched a dark mist form over Draco's still body.

"I'm familiar with most of it – but some of these curses I've never seen before," Hermione confessed.

"You work on healing, I'll work on countering some of the nastier curses," Blaise instructed.

Hermione and Blaise spent the next half hour working in relative silence – the only words spoken were the spells they cast at Draco – until Hermione had healed all of the life-threatening injuries and reached Draco's hands.

They were swollen to nearly three times their normal size and a deep, violent shade of purple. Gingerly she lifted his wand hand to inspected the tender flesh.

Draco's scream of pure agony startled both of them and Hermione dropped his hand as Draco sat up on the bed, eyes wide and unfocused as they darted around the room. He seemed to be searching for something.

"It's alright, mate. We've got you in our common room." Blaise put a comforting arm on Draco's shoulders.

Draco didn't look at him, focused intently on the source of pain.

"My hands…"

"What spell were you hit with, Malfoy?"

Her question startled him into looking at her. His eyes hardened.

"Get away from me," he commanded.

Hermione frowned and looked over him at Blaise. The other boy seemed confused.

"Get away!" Draco bellowed, color returning to his face as his anger grew.

"I'm only trying to help!" Hermione protested, confused and annoyed.

"I don't want your help. I don't want you touching me!" He jerked away from her and turned a glare of such hatred on her that she gasped.

"I – I – "

"Quit stuttering, you pathetic Muggle and get out of my sight!"

Hermione felt tears prick her eyes and swallowed hard. She turned to Blaise.

"I've healed everything but his hands," she tried to keep her voice as even as possible and failed miserably. "I – you should be able to handle things from here."

"Granger – "

"Let her go, Blaise, I'd rather die than submit to another minute of her presence."

Hermione rose to her feet and practically fled the room – running to the nearest door she could find and slamming it shut behind her. It only took a moment to realize that she had locked herself into Blaise's room – the expensive, matching luggage laid out by the foot of the bed and the velvet, emerald colored duvet on the bed immediate give aways.

She drew in a deep breath and brushed away her tears, refusing to cry over such an ungrateful, horrible boy as Malfoy. She leaned back against the door, forcing herself to think calming thoughts and finally acknowledging that Ron might be right: Draco Malfoy was still a git.

* * *

When Draco woke the next morning his head was pounding and his entire body ached. It felt like he had been run over the Knight Bus.

He opened his eyes slowly, half expecting to be attacked, but was relieved to see that he was still in the Head's common room, still naked, still resting on a transfigured hospital bed. He looked around and spotted Blaise, still in his school uniform, stretched out on the couch across from him.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Draco demanded.

Blaise was awake in an instant, wand in hand, and glanced around the room before locking eyes with Draco.

"What?"

"I asked, what are you doing out here – don't you have a room?"

"I did until Granger locked herself into it." Blaise's voice was little more than a growl, and the glare he shot at Draco made it clear that he thought Draco had acted improperly. "She saved your life, you ungrateful arse, and then you practically attacked her."

Draco swallowed the retort that immediately came to mind and shook his head.

"You could have healed me without her help."

"Only if you wanted permanent scars and the loss of mobility in your legs. You're lucky the Head's bathroom has a potions stock for emergencies."

Draco scowled and sat up on the bed.

"Got any clothes around here?"

"Yeah, in my room. The one Granger locked me out of last night. Care to ask her to open up?"

Draco glared at his friend until Blaise relented and crossed to the door that presumably led to his bedroom. It took four knocks before Granger bothered to open the door.

"What?" Her demand startled Draco almost as much as her appearance. So much for having tamed her hair – it looked just as wild and bushy today as it ever had before. Coupled with her blood-shot eyes and wrinkled clothes and she looked about as bad as Draco felt.

"Pardon me, Miss Granger, but I'm in need of fresh robes and yours simply don't fit," Blaise's voice was a mix of charm and patronizing haughtiness. Granger flushed red and instantly opened the door.

"Sorry – I, um, I'll just go back to my own room." She slipped out of the room and rushed over to another door, head down.

Blaise shot Draco a reproving look over his shoulder as Granger's door slammed closed.

"What?"

Blaise shook his head and went into his own, newly reclaimed room, and came out a few minutes later wearing a fresh set of robes and carrying a folded school uniform in one hand.

He tossed the clothes beside Draco on the bed.

"You don't happen to know who has your wand, do you?" Blaise asked as Draco dressed.

"Damnit – Nott has it." Draco sighed and stood to pull on the dark grey uniform trousers. He caught Blaise watching him. "I'm an injured man, Zabini, can't you keep your lechery at bay for ten minutes?"

Blaise chuckled but didn't look embarrassed.

"Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities, Malfoy."

Draco scowled and finished dressing himself in silence. Just as he was tying his borrowed tie Granger came out of her room. She looked briefly at the two of them and them stormed off into the bathroom.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Honestly – what did she expect me to do? Kiss her feet?"

"I'm sure a simple thank you would have sufficed." Blaise directed his wand at Draco and the blonde flinched before he could stop himself. "I'm not going to hex you, Malfoy, I'll leave that to Granger." He cast a strong cleaning charm on Draco, and the blonde ran his tongue along his teeth, pleased to find them fresh.

"Thanks."

"See – something like that." Blaise repeated the charm on himself. "Now, let's get out of here before she comes back."

Draco could see the logic in that and he followed Blaise from the room, eager to get clear before Granger worked herself up enough for a tirade.

The walk down to the great hall was a slow one, and Draco was grateful that Blaise kept pace with him. By the time they entered, the hall was filled with students, all abuzz with first day jitters. Draco looked at the corner that Nott had occupied last night and wasn't surprised to see the Slytherin already holding court, Pansy on one arm and Harper by his other side. He caught Draco's eye and sent him a smug look. Draco returned the look with a smirk of his own – all three of the Slytherin's looked like they had spent the night trying to reverse the damage Draco had done to them, and it was obvious even from here that Pansy's face was caked in make-up. Nott's eyes narrowed at Draco's defiant look and he withdrew a wand and began to twirl it between his fingers.

Draco clenched his jaw and steeled himself for the encounter that had to follow. He started towards the table only to have Blaise hold him back.

"I have to get my wand," Draco said.

"I'll get it."

"I don't need you to protect me," Draco hissed.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I didn't save your life last night just so that you could get in a pissing match with Nott today and get your arse kicked again."

"I can handle myself."

"Like last night?"

Draco glared.

"Go sit down, I'll be right over." Blaise walked away, the matter settled to him. Draco stood and walked the tall, confident Slytherin cross the hall. And then Granger walked in, looking to be in a high snit. She caught sight of Draco and sent him a glare so filled with hate that he turned away.

He walked over to the table that he and Blaise had sat at last night, pleased to see that Stephan and Eleanor were already there. He joined them and nodded a greeting.

"Morning, Malfoy, you feeling alright? You look a bit peeky."

"Tactful as ever," Eleanor muttered before shooting Draco a smile.

"Schedules should be going around soon… I overheard McGonagall talking to Professor Viridian about some incident in the Slytherin common room last night. Was there some sort of orgy? All of you upper years look ready to fall over."

"Because that was WAY more tactful," Stephan muttered.

Draco was saved with formulating a glib response by Blaise's arrival at the table.

"Good morning Eleanor, Stephan." He nodded to Draco and sat down beside him. A moment later, Draco felt Blaise's leg brush against his own. He looked down and saw his wand sticking out of the other Slytherin's trouser pocket. He rolled his eyes but reached for the wand, as subtly as possible, and ignored the smirk Blaise wore, as well as the way he shifted against his hand.

Seconds later he had his wand back in his own pocket and released a breath. For a wizard to be without his wand was one thing – to know that an enemy was in possession of his wand was entirely another. For Draco, whose entire life had been a series of lessons and punishments delivered at wand-point, the thought of Nott having his wand had made him nauseated. Especially considered the newness of his wand – after Potter had taken his last year Draco had been forced to use his mother's wand until the war and resulting trials had ended. Only a month ago had he been able to go to Diagon Alley and purchase a new wand from Ollivander's nephew.

He gave Blaise a nod of gratitude.

"Good morning," an unfamiliar voice intoned from behind them. Draco and Blaise both turned slightly to take in the newcomer.

Tiberius Smith stood in front of them, a stack of small parchment in his hand: their class schedules.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini…. And Mr. Cornfoot… and Miss Cartwright." He passed out the schedules and then turned to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, the Headmistress asked me to inform you that the Slytherin Quidditch's try-outs have been scheduled for next Saturday."

Draco arched an eyebrow.

"Good to know… I appreciate the Headmistress wishing to inform me."

Smith nodded and a lock of brown hair fell onto his forehead. He carelessly brushed it aside.

"She thought you might wish to pass out flyers or… advertise in some fashion."

Draco exchanged a look with Blaise, but the other Slytherin looked as confused as he felt.

"Shouldn't the team captain do that?"

Smith blinked. "But YOU are the team captain."

"No, I'm not. I resigned from the team last year."

Smith frowned.

"Yes, you are. The faculty elected each of the team captains. Letters should have been sent out."

"I didn't get a letter."

"An administrative oversight, then. Well, you know now. Good morning, I look forward to seeing all of you in my Transfiguration class." With a nod he swept off, the very ideal of efficiency as he continued to pass out schedules.

"Congratulations," Stephan said. "You always wanted to be captain, right?"

Draco nodded absently, mind already absorbed with this new complication. How the hell was he supposed to captain his house team when no less than twenty-four hours ago that very house had tried to kill him?

"Potions first thing, what a way to start the week…" Blaise was looking over his schedule. "And then Ancient Runes….hm. Good schedule." He looked up at Draco and smirked at his somewhat bemused expression. "Look at it this way, at least you won't be bored."

Draco snorted.

"Right. Keeping myself from getting stabbed in the back IS an interesting way to spend the year."

* * *

Hermione accepted her schedule from Professor Smith was a smile of gratitude. Finally, something to take her mind off of the infuriating Slytherin sitting across the hall – and the group of adolescent boys currently surrounding her.

She was taking as many NEWT level courses as she could – Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, Potions, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, History of Magic, and Muggle Studies. Eight NEWT courses was apparently, and disappointingly, the limit. She glanced over at Ron's schedule and rolled her eyes. He had nearly as many free periods as he did classes – he was taking only the requisite six NEWT courses to get into the Auror Academy. She had no doubt that Harry was doing the same.

"Well? Going to be studying until your eyeballs bleed?" Harry asked.

Hermione smiled.

"Of course! I've got to get perfect NEWT scores so I can get a good apprenticeship next year."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Hermione, honestly, you're a war hero – you could sleep through this year and still get any apprenticeship you wanted. Or you could go to the Auror Academy with Harry and me."

Hermione blinked and looked over at Harry, who was currently scowling at his breakfast. Alright, it seemed that Harry had not gotten around to ruining Ron's plans for their future yet. She sighed.

"Right, well, I'd rather know that I earned my spot."

Harry looked up.

"Because spending the last seven years fighting off Voldemort and Death Eaters doesn't earn me the right to do whatever I want?"

"That's not what I said, Harry. But I want to be known for more than just winning a war. Don't you?" She refused to rise to the bait and tried to speak in a pacifying tone.

"Yeah," Harry admitted grudgingly. "I just don't think it's possible."

That left all of them silent for a moment.

"Er, right, well we've got Quidditch tryouts coming up, Harry – think you want to come back as Seeker? With you as Seeker we'll be unstoppable."

Ron, having just been named Captain of the Quidditch team five minutes ago, was no doubt already planning the victory party in his head for when they won the Quidditch Cup.

"Maybe. I – yeah, yeah I do want to come back."

Hermione smiled at Harry's sudden enthusiasm and Ron grinned as well.

"Excellent. I know Ginny's got her heart set on being Chaser and I'll bet Jimmy Peakes will still want to play Beater, now we'll just have to scout out the younger students for the rest of the team… I heard that Natalie McDonald's a pretty good flyer, she might…" And suddenly the boys were immersed in Quidditch talk.

It reminded Hermione of years past, when they had been able to set aside their troubles and play the sport they both loved. It seemed that some things never changed.

"… heard Malfoy was named Slytherin Captain…"

Hermione focused back in on their conversation.

"Slimy git, I didn't think his family had enough money to buy a spot for him." This last was from Harry and Ron looked over at her with a worried expression. Clearly he expected her to jump to Malfoy's defense.

But Hermione just sighed and rose from the table.

"Come on, boys, we've got Potions in a few minutes. I want to get there early enough to get a good seat."

Ron looked grateful and they both rose.

"Wonder if Prince will be a git like Snape or – "

"A lecherous arse like Slughorn?" Harry finished for him.

"Not what I was going to say, but yeah. Say, Harry, do you want to talk about it? I know you've been staying up nights, dreaming of good old Horace – missing those wonderful days that you two spent together, you brewing potions from an illegally obtained book, he admiring your, er, ancestry…" Ron batted his eyelashes at Harry and the shorter boy shoved his shoulder, forcing him to bump into Hermione.

"Get lost." But Harry was grinning and Ron smiled down at Hermione as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"For your information," Hermione said as she turned to them, "Professor Prince is a brilliant researcher. I've read all of his books and essays. He studied under Nicholas Flamel, before he died."

"Wow, really? Didn't Snape apprentice to Flamel?"

Hermione nodded. "Flamel taught all of Britain's best Potions Masters. We're lucky to have someone like him on staff."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Don't go crushing on him, now, Hermione, just because he looks like Viktor Krum."

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and moved away.

"Just because I appreciate his intelligence doesn't mean I'm 'crushing' on him." She tossed her hair and sniffed. "Besides, Professor Smith is FAR more attractive."

Ron stumbled and Harry started to laugh.

"What?!" Ron caught back up to them and grabbed her arm. "That pale, depressed looking – "

"You mean that academic looking professor? With his disarrayed hair and his charming, piercing, intelligent eyes and his chiseled, many jaw…" Hermione gave a longing sigh. "Yes, that one."

"I won't have my girl going on about another man like that," Ron practically growled and pulled her into his arms. He leaned down and delivered a forceful, slightly sloppy kiss that left Hermione breathless. She fought back the urge to wipe her mouth as Ron stepped back and smirked down at her.

" 'Sides, he can't compare to me anyway, can he?"

Suddenly Ron was pushed away from her, and Hermione watched as Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy shouldered their way between her and Ron. She surreptitiously brought her hand to her face and wiped away the saliva she felt clinging to her lips.

"Please don't use the public corridors for private displays of affection, Weasley, Granger. Bad impression you're setting for the first years." Zabini said, patronizing as ever. Hermione found herself blushing red – she completely agreed with him, and had told Ron repeatedly she didn't like to be kissed in public. But when she caught sight of the look of disgust on Draco Malfoy's face she bit back the apology she had been prepared to deliver.

"I don't see any first years around here, Zabini." Ron snarled.

Hermione grabbed his arm before things started to escalate.

"Come on, we need to get to class, and he's right."

"Whatever." Ron shot a glare at the two Slytherins before allowing Hermione to lead him away. Harry followed only after sending his own glare at the two.

So much, she thought, for inter-house cooperation.

She carried that thought with her right up until they entered the potions classroom and saw that Professor Prince stood at the front, and that the few students who had beaten them to the room were not sitting but instead were standing awkwardly off to one side.

"What's going on?" Ron wondered aloud.

Harry groaned. "I'll bet it's another attempt by McGonagall to break up the houses. Betcha he's going to assign us seats or some shit."

From the front of the room Prince loudly cleared his throat.

"Right you are, Mr. Potter. But I will not tolerate such language, or such disrespect for members of the faculty, in my classroom. Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms defiantly.

"For the love of Merlin," Ron muttered under his breath, "class hasn't even started yet. This is going to be JUST like old times. Git might as well tell us to call him Professor Snape."

Hermione frowned and studied the Professor as he leaned against his desk in front of them. He was dressed in dark navy trousers and vest, but wore a high collared shirt of some soft, dark gray material. His attire was very different from Snape's or Slughorn's, for that matter, but there was something awfully familiar about the scowl on his face and his arched eyebrow. She just could not put her finger on it… and then it hit her. Edward Prince… Prince. The same last name as Snape's mother. Was he in some way related to their deceased Professor?

She studied his face closer and decided that, while his dark hair was shorter and fuller, it was still as black as Snape's had been. His eyes, though dark, were brown – not black. And his nose did dominate his facial structure…. Still, she knew that the Prince family was old and extensive, with many branches. It was likely that Edward Prince was a distant cousin to Severus Snape, but probably nothing more.

"As one of your peers has noted, Headmistress McGonagall feels that inter-house cooperation is key. While I do not share her complete devotion to the idea, it is patently obvious that house rivalries have plagued this school and created deep rifts between the students. And I will have none of it in my classroom. Potions is a fine and subtle art, but it is also dangerous and mistakes are too often deadly. As NEWT level students, you are nearly ready to join the professional world. My records of your previous work indicate that many of you have shown a remarkable aptitude in this field, and it is my goal to encourage those who wish to pursue Potions as a career. It is also my hope that I can train the rest of you up to a level where you will not present yourselves as a danger to society, or a disappointment to this school." Several of the students snickered at the dry conclusion and even Hermione found herself smiling. Prince obviously favored sarcasm, but his nature seemed slightly more open and forgiving than Snape's had been. It was also obvious that he would prove to be a much better professor than Slughorn.

"Those of you looking to engage in apprenticeships after you graduate should be aware that as apprentices, you will be tasked with both menial potions and the most difficult and challenging of potions. You will likely work with a fellow apprentice for many of your endeavors. This year we will engage in the brewing of a number of complex potions that require two sets of hands." There were some groans at this, mostly from the Ravenclaws. "Additionally you will work to complete all of the independent potions that the NEWT exams often feature. To this end, I will be pairing you with a permanent lab partner, based on your OWL records. While some of you are paired with members of your own house, many of you are not. I expect you to accept your partners with the maturity that is expected of fully grown wizards."

Hermione drew in a deep breath. She remembered receiving her OWL scores… she also remembered over-hearing a certain Slytherin's Potions score.

"After you are paired you may choose your desk assignments," Prince gave this last instruction as he picked up a roll of parchment and held it before him. " Miss Granger and Mr. Zabini."

Hermione blinked in shock and looked over at the dark haired Slytherin, who seemed to be just as confused as she was. Blaise was a gifted student, but he wasn't her match in potions – no one was, except for –

"Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter."

She closed her eyes and counted down from three… two…

"You have GOT to be kidding." Her eyes flew open and she looked over at Malfoy. She had expected Harry to start yelling, not him. Beside her, though, Harry looked just as outraged as the blonde.

"His scores on the OWLs were PATHETIC."

Prince raised an eyebrow.

"I hardly deem an Excellent _Pathetic_, Mr. Malfoy. Furthermore, Mr. Potter's academic record from sixth year indicates considerable growth in the subject."

Malfoy subsided with a glare and a sneer before marching over to his customary desk and sitting down. Harry looked at him, a mulish look on his face that made it clear he would NOT follow Malfoy's lead.

Hermione looked over at Blaise, and the Head Boy was frowning. He caught her eye and sent her a questioning look. She squared her shoulders and sat down at the table behind Malfoy, Blaise quickly taking a seat beside her.

It was a few tense moments before Harry took his seat, and then Prince resumed calling out the pairs. Ron was paired with Ernie Macmillan, one of the few Hufflepuffs in the class, and took the table across from Harry's.

Once everyone was settled Prince gestured to the chalk board and a list of ingredients appeared on the board.

"The professional world is not a fair place, nor is it particularly safe. You have the rest of the class period to brew and bottle this potion. The first pair to correctly identify, and safely bottle, this potion will receive perfect marks for today's class. Every pair after that will receive five points fewer than the pair before them. You may now begin."

Hermione's eyes went wide and she felt her palms moisten. Prince was presenting them with a complex, dangerous potion on their first day – and making it a competition. She exchanged a smirk with Blaise, immensely grateful that she had been paired with him.

"Ready to kick everyone else's arse?" He asked her.

"You bet."

"Right, I'll collect the ingredients, you figure out what the hell we're doing."

Hermione nodded acceptance of his plan and pulled out her potions text, madly flipping through the index.

It took her nearly fifteen minutes to figure out the potion – in which time Blaise had expertly sliced and prepared all of their ingredients. She scribbled the name of the potion on a slip of paper and pushed it at him. His eyes widened as he read it.

"Hm. Maybe he just wants us all to kill ourselves on the first day so he doesn't have to bother with us again."

There was a snort of laughter and Hermione looked up to see Prince looming over their desk.

"Not my exact thoughts, Mr. Zabini, when I came up with the assignment last night. However, the idea does have a certain appeal at present." He sent a glare towards the table in front of them, where Harry was angrily, and poorly chopping Valerian Roots while Draco seemed to be manning the cauldron, checking his text, and preparing Ashwinder eggs simultaneously.

Hermione opened her mouth to scold Harry, but Prince sent her a look that made it plain her interference would be punished. So she kept her mouth shut and turned back to her own cauldron.

Prince moved on, stopping to observe Ron and averting his disastrous attempt to add Pomegranate seeds to his practically ruined potion.

By the time Blaise added the last ingredient to their potion and Hermione prepared for the final twelve, counter-clockwise stirs, most of the class had figured out the potion and were more than half-way through the brewing process. In front of her, Draco was only a step behind Hermione, and his forehead was covered in sweat – while Harry merely sat at the table and glared at him.

Blaise quickly prepared the test tube for their potion sample and Hermione ladled in a portion of the lavender mixture in their cauldron. He put a stopper in the potion, saluted her with it, and proudly walked to the front of the room.

Prince accepted the potion and examined it in the light. He then looked up at the smirking pair of students.

"Well, would either of you care to test it?"

Hermione blinked and even Blaise looked taken aback.

"Er, sir, we don't often test our own potions." The Slytherin tried to negotiate.

"Not as students, no, but when you are Potions Apprentices? Or when you are brewing a potion to save the life of your child or loved one? Will you doubt yourself then as well?"

Blaise swallowed and looked over at Hermione. He released a sigh.

"Alright. Hand it over."

"Blaise –" Hermione started to stop him, she, after all, had been the one to brew it. If something went wrong, she should be the one to suffer the consequences.

The Slytherin merely winked at her and tipped the potion back, swallowing it whole and nearly hiding his look of disgust at its taste. Most of the class had stopped their work – not Draco, however – and watched eagerly as a thin, lavender mist started to emanate from Blaise. He stood still for nearly five minutes, his eyes closed, and a look of intense concentration on his face.

At last the mist started to evaporate and Blaise opened his eyes, a slightly star-struck look in them.

"Huh," he murmured, then looked back at Prince. "I seem to have survived."

"And?"

"The potion seemed to work, yeah. That or we just created a really impressive hallucinogenic potion."

Prince smirked slightly and gestured for Blaise to return to his desk, which he did eagerly.

"Well?" Hermione demanded when he returned.

"I think we nailed it."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"I know that! I'm asking what you saw."

He frowned slightly.

"That, Miss Granger, is personal information. Why don't you have a taste yourself?" He gestured to their still nearly full cauldron. Hermione considered it for a moment and then shook her head negatively.

"No thanks. I'd rather the future remain a surprise."

They spent the rest of the period cleaning out the cauldron and restoring their supplies, both surreptitiously watching their classmates finish their potions and turn them in. Eleanor Cartwright and Stephan Cornfoot were the next to complete the potion, but Prince did not make them, nor any of the remaining students, test the potion they turned in.

Hermione thought this wise, especially considering the fact that Draco turned in HIS potion third. The vial was filled with a liquid slightly thicker and much darker than the one that Hermione and Blaise had produced. She was confident that it wasn't Draco's brewing ability that had resulted in the potion, but more likely the poorly prepared ingredients.

Five minutes before the bell was scheduled to ring, Ron and Ernie, the last pair, turned in their potion.

Prince accepted it and waved them back to their seats.

"I must commend all of you. I know for a fact that most of the seventh year students at Beauxbatons would be unable to identify, much less brew, such a complex and potentially lethal potion like the Elixer de Destin. Not all of you produced effective potions – but none of them were poor enough to result in the death of anyone. So, well done. I must caution you, however, that things will only get more complicated after today, and that it is not only encouraged, but imperative, that you cooperate with your partner." He paused, gaze swift and searching as he looked at each pair of students in turn. "Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, I would like to speak with you both. The rest of you are dismissed."

The students left in a rush, Ron and Harry almost the first to leave the room, both looking angry and slightly embarrassed. Hermione cautiously approached the front of the room.

Prince waited until the room was empty before coming around to the front of his desk and perching on the edge.

"I realize that both of you anticipated partnering with each other rather than your current partners." Draco snorted but Prince continued over him. "However, I felt that partnering you together in class might have forced the two of you together for an unnecessary amount of time."

"Sir?" Hermione was confused.

"I have read the notes on your transcripts, left by both Professors Snape and Slughorn, and it is clear that you are the two brightest, most driven students of your year. Based on staff recommendations, I have decided to offer you a very unique opportunity."

Draco arched an eyebrow.

"An opportunity that would involved spending time with each other?" His voice was filled with sarcasm.

Prince inclined his head.

"Yes, actually. In years past, Hogwarts professors have been encouraged to offer apprenticeships to promising seventh year students. The Headmistress has encouraged all of the staff to take on a student. I am sure you know that such an apprenticeship counts for just as much as any you would begin after your graduation, but this would allow you to start a year early – thus putting you in position to achieve your mastery much sooner. I would like to offer both of you this opportunity."

"But sir, you hardly know us!" Hermione protested even though her heart swelled with pride at the thought that Snape and Slughorn had thought so highly of her.

"Indeed, but both of you demonstrated the skills of journeyman brewer's today in class. Additionally, Professor Snape strongly recommended that I challenge the two of you. I think an apprenticeship in potions, in addition to your other coursework and your other duties, would certainly prove challenging, don't you?"

Draco was scowling.

"Snape recommended you challenge us? How, did he appear in a dream to you?" There was a fair amount of anger in his voice.

Prince shook his head.

"No, he left detailed notes, found by the Headmistress, about several students. You two just happened to be the ones he wrote the most about."

"Really?" Hermione felt a lump form in her throat. She had spent six years trying to win Snape's approval, and it was only now that he was dead that she had earned it.

Prince nodded.

"Yes. Now, you had best hurry to your next class. I would like your answers by Friday – if you wish to apprentice we should begin as soon as possible. Usually these things begin the summer prior to seventh year, but… these are unique times."

He gestured for them to leave and turned away to prepare for his next class.

Both Hermione and Draco left in a daze, walking silently to their next class – History of Magic.

Just as they neared the classroom Hermione stopped and put her hand on Draco's arm.

"I'm sorry about Harry, it isn't fair for him to treat you like that."

Draco sneered and jerked his arm away.

"Life isn't fair, Granger. A lesson I've had reinforced a lot lately. Now leave me alone. I don't need your pity."

Hermione took a step away from him, shocked by his vehemence.

"I'm only trying to help you!"

He stepped closer to her, and Hermione realized just how tall he was.

"I'm not Potter or Weasley! I don't need you interfering in my life!"

"I –"

"Back off, Granger. Good little girls like you don't make friends with boys like me. Or did you want Potter and Weasley to insult and ignore you? Do you want the Slytherin's to attack YOU in dark corridors and the school to call you a whore? I don't need you, and I certainly don't _want_ you." He looked over her slowly, making it clear that nothing about her was of any interest to him, and then pushed past her and walked into the History classroom.

Hermione took a moment to get her emotions under control and calm her breathing.

She smoothed her skirt and held her head high as she entered the classroom a moment after Malfoy. She sat down between Ron and Harry, grateful they had thought to leave her a seat, and spent the rest of the class resolutely ignoring everyone around her. She took notes as prolifically as ever, but her mind was elsewhere.

She wasn't positive, but she was pretty sure that Draco had just proven to her that he wasn't the evil git he used to be. Last night he had insulted her just as he used to – and last night he had had Blaise as an audience. But just now, between the two of them, he hadn't cast one insult against her parentage or her intelligence…in fact, he had made it quite clear that he disliked her simply for being herself: an annoying witch who tried to meddle in other people's lives. And while that certainly hurt, it also proved her point: Draco Malfoy was worth another chance.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry, this chapter is a little shorter than the others.

Um, thanks to those folks who added this story to their alert list.

And if anyone has a moment to spare, feel free to leave a review… seriously, I'd love some feedback on how you think this story is going.

Another Chance

Chapter Four

Draco made it through the first week of school without further incident. That did not mean that he had not spent every school day glancing over his shoulder, it did not mean that he did not wait until long past curfew before finally making the trek down to the Slytherin common room – long past the time when everyone else was in their rooms. It simply meant that he was ignored by every single member of his house, without the notable exceptions of Blaise and Daphne. The other Slytherin prefect talked to him only when necessary, and never when another member of their house was around, but Draco could not hold it against her. Their house was one of politics, and there had been a recent avalanche of power.

He managed to ignore Granger for the whole of the week as well, despite the fact that they were partnered together in Transfiguration and Arithmancy. He completed each of their assignments individually, a fact that clearly infuriated her – and forced her to do the same. It gave him a perverse pleasure to see both her irritation and the complete confusion of their professors when they turned in their separate assignments.

The first Saturday of term dawned cloudy, with the promise of rain and winds so fierce that the trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forrest were nearly bent double. It was a piece of luck in Draco's favor – since Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Quidditch tryouts were scheduled for today – while his own team was scheduled for the following weekend.

Friday after Potions class Draco had stayed behind to inform Professor Prince of his acceptance of the offered apprenticeship, and today ,marked his first official day of training. After breakfast he was to join Prince in the dungeons for an impromptu exam, so that Prince could accurately assess his skills.

He had no idea whether or not Granger had also accepted the offer, but he prayed that his apprenticeship would be a solo venture. As a child, some of his few fond memories had been the times that Snape came over to tutor him in potions – as harsh and biting in private as he was in public, Snape had still been an excellent teacher, and the rare praise he offered Draco was a balm for the young, troubled boy's soul.

Potions was something that Draco excelled at – he understood it and appreciated all the myriad of ways you could create something, could tweak the efficiency and place your own, distinct flair upon the potion. It was a refuge, and one that Draco was loathe to share with the overbearing, insufferable Gryffindor.

When he entered the Great Hall he was mildly surprised to see that Blaise was seated with the Gryffindor currently in his thoughts – the two chatting companionably with Stephan and Eleanor at Draco's usual table. He gritted his teeth and scanned the hall for ANY other option.

Finding none – he absolutely refused to sit with a Hufflepuff, no matter HOW obvious Megan Jones was about her absolute adoration of him – he made his way over to the table and took the open seat beside Eleanor.

She gave him a bright smile before returning to her conversation with Granger.

"…but the Greenleaf principle CLEARLY states that numerical transference simply isn't possible in an instant like that," she finished her point and sat back smugly.

Granger raised an eyebrow.

"That's true," she allowed, "but Greenleaf postulated that more than three hundred years ago. Since then, the integration of divergent metaphysics had drastically changed the nature of rune formulation. Take the Heelborg Equation – it disproves the Greenleaf principle in only two steps – or even the Fransand Principle, which was postulated just a few MONTHS after the Greenleaf Principle."

Eleanor frowned but Stephan leaned forward.

"Where the hell did you get your hands on that kind of theoretical material? That's not in the library here."

Granger smirked triumphantly.

"Professors Vector and Babbling game me a few books from their private libraries."

Draco couldn't resist himself.

"Wow. Didn't know Vector had such low standards, Babbling either. Always KNEW they were dikes, but still…"

Granger flushed red and glared at him. Even Blaise sent him a reproving look.

"For your information, they've both offered me apprenticeships."

Draco was secretly impressed -Granger had been offered THREE apprenticeships? But he was also relieved – it sounded like she had already committed to those two, there was no way she would be able to juggle a third.

Beside him Eleanor had turned a curious shade of red.

"Vector offered YOU an apprenticeship? I… she said she didn't have time to take on an apprentice this year!" The girl stood quickly and glared at the Head Girl, as though the slight were her personal fault. "Besides, you can't have TWO apprenticeships."

Granger tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking confident and a little irritated.

"I can and I am. Headmistress McGonagall already approved it."

Eleanor practically growled and then stomped off, leaving the remaining students in a stunned silence. And then Stephan started to snicker. A second later Blaise, and then Draco, joined him.

Granger just shook her head.

"Honestly, it isn't MY fault."

"Oh yes it is, Granger." Stephan sobered up and gave Granger an appraising look. "You have no idea how much my house holds it against you that you chose Gryffindor over Ravenclaw."

Granger opened her mouth, probably to argue.

"Admit it. The hat wanted to put you in my house, where you BELONG, but you chose the path of glory instead."

"Well, maybe."

"Eleanor's a lot like you – but our house is different. We're study partners, but we aren't friends. She's always been jealous that you can be at the top of all your classes –"

"Except Potions," Draco felt the need to interject.

"And Defense," she added herself.

" – and still have time to go around breaking rules and killing Dark Lord's."

Hermione frowned.

"Add to that the fact that you're muggleborn," he shrugged, "it's like your mere existence is an insult."

Granger really looked ready to argue now, but Blaise interrupted this time.

"He's not insulting you, Granger. The fact is – you spent eleven years in the Muggle world, with no knowledge of our customs, our history, of MAGIC, even. And then you waltz in here and it's all so… natural for you. People are bound to be jealous."

"I've always been rubbish at flying," she confessed. "It just doesn't feel right."

Stephan snorted a laugh.

"That's because you hang around with Weasley and Potter. Those two wouldn't know how to properly fly a broom if they were forced to."

"Harry's a wonderful flyer!"

Draco thought it was interesting that she was defending the Boy Wonder, and NOT her own boyfriend, but he continued to eat his breakfast instead of commenting.

"He's good at flying to save his life, and he's good enough to play Quidditch, but he'd never be able to professionally race, and he has no elegance."

Blaise and Draco nodded in agreement.

"He flies dirty," Blaise explained when Hermione still looked confused.

"You mean there are RULES to flying?"

"Course there are – Granger, you should know, there are rules to EVERYTHING."

She looked pensive and Blaise shot Draco a mischievous look.

"You should go to the Slytherin tryouts next Saturday," he said, still looking at Draco. "I know Draco will put them through their paces – and then you'll be able to see what REAL flying looks like."

Granger snorted.

"I won't even go see my own house tryouts, why am I going to go watch our biggest rivals?"

"Research. And you could use the time to spy on Draco's best prospects – himself and his broom, sadly."

Stephan snorted in appreciation at this comment and Draco rolled his eyes, though he was also forced to acknowledge the truth in his statement. The prospects really weren't looking too good for Slytherin this year. Not among the upper years, at least… but the younger students, in addition to being more agile, were still in awe of Draco's legacy and might be more willing to obey him.

Granger looked half convinced.

Draco sneered at her.

"Surely you'll need to spend the day studying – what with your TWO apprenticeships."

She looked over at him, slightly smug.

"You mean my THREE apprenticeships.

Draco felt his jaw slacken.

"Speaking of, we should probably be on our way to the dungeons, don't you think?" She stood and shot him an imperious look.

Blaise, meanwhile, just leaned back and smirked as he clearly enjoyed the show.

"I cannot believe you accepted all of the apprenticeships. You daft t-"

"Language, Malfoy," Blaise said lazily. The he waved. "You two kids go have fun now, and try not to poison each other."

Draco glared at his best friend and shoved away from the table to stand. Angrily, and without waiting for Granger, he stormed from the hall.

He wasn't surprised when, moments later, she had caught up and was trying to keep pace with him.

"Honestly, Malfoy, I'm not your enemy anymore! Why do you keep treating me so horribly?"

"Because you irritate the hell out of me, you insufferable – why?" Draco stopped and turned to glare at her. She had taken another step, and then turned back to face him. He took advantage of her momentary confusion and shoved her against the corridor wall, ignoring her wince of pain. He used one hand to pin her hands together, knowing only too well how much damage she could inflict – wand or no wand.

"Why what?" She demanded, scared and angry.

"Why the hell can't you just let me have this one thing, Granger? Just, for ONCE, say no to a professor and leave me alone. This is all I've got. Damn it." He shook her slightly, feeling all of his rage at her – at everyone – start to recede as she just stood there, looking at him with fearful eyes. His anger was replaced with a renewed sense of despair. Everything was going wrong, there really was NO way for him to leave the past behind him, he realized. It was impossible to get a fresh start. His own house despised him, his family name was as good as mud, and his fortune gone. He had no prospects and –

"Honestly, Malfoy, stop feeling so sorry for yourself. It's pathetic."

Her scornful voice jerked him out of his thoughts. Her eyes had narrowed and her posture straightened. Clearly she had gotten over her fear.

"What do you know about it?" He demanded, applying pressure to her hands.

"Grow up and realize that the world isn't out to get you. The world doesn't even CARE about you. Your name and your money aren't worth anything anymore. But so what? You've still got your brain, or are you too busy dwelling on your own stupid mistakes. Where the hell is all of your pride? Just because you… just because you were WRONG doesn't mean that you aren't still an arrogant prick. Pull it together and grow a spine." The last was said in a hiss. She kicked out with her feet, landing a solid blow to his left knee and he dropped her hands in shock and momentary pain.

"Now, can we please get to the dungeons before we're late?" She straightened her clothes – her Muggle clothes, he noted sourly – and shot him one last haughty look before she spun on her heel and marched away from him.

Draco stood and watched her, at a complete loss as to what the hell had just happened.

It took him a moment, but then he felt mirth bubble up inside of him. For the first time in what felt like _years_ he laughed. He had to lean against the wall to finally gather himself together and wipe away his tears. He hadn't laughed that hard – ever, perhaps.

Hermione Granger had really grown up, he decided, but she was still a lot of fun to goad. And when she was yelling at him, trapped against a wall and daring him to get it together… well, she was almost tolerable.

* * *

Edward Prince studied his two new apprentices as they brewed the Draught of Living Death, the third of the five potions he had assigned them to brew today. While he trusted Severus Snape's judgment – and to a lesser extent Slughorn's – he still wanted to see just how advanced the two precocious students were.

When he had received the letter from McGonagall two months ago, offering him the position of Potions Master, he had been less than surprised, and less than thrilled. He and Snape had kept a certain level of correspondence over the years, which had only grown over the past two years as the war with Voldemort had reached its climate. Snape had not spoken often of his students, but these two – Granger and Malfoy – had featured prominently in his missives regardless. The Malfoy heir, Prince knew, was Snape's godson. The blonde boy, man now, seemed to demonstrate all of the skill, arrogance, and innate talent Snape had promised he would. Prince had to agree with Snape's assessment of Granger's skills as well: she was quick-witted, had a nearly encyclopedic knowledge of potions, ingredients, and brewing practices, and demonstrated remarkable confidence while under pressure. However, as Snape had pointed out, she lacked creativity. He had no doubt that she could be a gifted brewer, but her future did not lay in the field of Potions creation. Draco, on the other hand… the Slytherin showed a remarkable genius for inventiveness and originality, despite his attempts to hide it and follow each step to the letter. It was obvious Draco wanted to experiment, to try things differently. It was equally obvious that Granger was happy to replicate difficult potions as closely as possible.

They made a good pair, Prince mused, if only they could get along with each other.

In just over three hours they had managed to get into two verbal sparring matches, three arguments, and one near shouting match when he had stepped out of the room. It had gotten to the point, just as they started brewing the Draught of Living Death, that Prince had considered throwing the both of them out when Malfoy chided Granger for not keeping her ingredients perfectly separated.

"Granger, you do realize that you're supposed to combine the Ashophel and Valerian IN the cauldron, don't you?"

"Yes, Malfoy, I was aware of that fact. Which explains why I have them separated on my table."

"If by separated you mean practically cohabitating."

"Just because I'm not as OCD as you and don't feel the need to quarter my table off into three inch segments doesn't mean I'm incompetent!"

"OCD? Granger, don't tell me you've last the capability of using grammar and, well, words."

"It's an acronym. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It means you need to get a grip and stop separating your ingredients into units of seven!"

Instead of continuing the argument, Malfoy merely looked smug and continued to prepare his ingredients, still keeping them within the grid that Granger had noted, and looked pleased with himself to get her so riled up.

Prince had rolled his eyes and gone back to grading the essays he had assigned to the fourth year students – they seemed to have a firm basis in the beginnings, but the time they had spent with Slughorn had obviously been of little benefit – and he had assigned remedial, theoretical potions analysis essays to them.

He allowed them to continue working in relative silence, broken only by their bickering, until their fifth and final potion was underway. It was the Wolfsbane potion, and they would brew the base today – and return over the course of the next week to complete the final stages of the potion.

"Well, what are your plans for after graduation, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger?"

Granger bit her lip as she considered the question and he was pleased that neither had an immediate answer.

"I'd rather like to finish up this apprenticeship," Malfoy finally remarked.

"And after that?" Prince appreciated the Slytherin's sarcasm up to a point.

Malfoy shrugged.

"Recently I've been considering St. Mungo's."

"Really?" Granger looked shocked.

"Yeah, where else would I be in such a good position to ensure that more idiots like Longbottom don't survive infancy."

"You're terrible," she muttered and went back to her potion.

"Brewing?" Prince didn't bother to hide his disappointment. He had expected Granger to take that route – not Draco.

"At first. I'd thought about going into their Development Potions track. They have excellent funding, after all."

Prince felt better at that response. But he knew Malfoy pride and ambition well enough to know there was more to it than that. He waited.

"And of course, within ten years I plan on being the head of St. Mungo's," the Slytherin finally added.

Prince bit back a laugh at the expression on Granger's face.

"You honestly want to work at St. Mungo's?"

"I'm not going to be a Healer, Granger. Relax."

"Oh yes, I feel SO much better knowing that you'll be preparing the potions instead of administering them."

"Better me than Potter," Malfoy practically growled and Granger subsided.

The seventh year potions class had met three times that week – and on Wednesday and Friday things had not improved between Malfoy and Potter. It had gotten to the point that Prince was starting to reconsider the pairing.

"Miss Granger?" He prompted after a few moments of silence.

"Oh. I, ah, I'm not sure yet."

"You mean you don't have the future mapped out in excruciating detail? I'm disappointed."

She sent Malfoy a glare but the blonde only smirked back at her.

"I mean, Potions is fascinating, but, well… I'm not sure I want to make a career out of brewing someone else's creations."

Prince was impressed that she recognized her own limitations.

"Then why accept this apprenticeship?"

She blushed and Malfoy muttered something under his breath that Prince couldn't hear.

"I'm fascinated by inter-disciplinary studies, Professor, and I think that the wizarding world is really, well, provincial in the way it treats academic disciplines. I would love to be able to research magical theory and time continuums."

"But both of those fields require a knowledge of Runes, Arithmancy, and Potions."

"Exactly. And while I won't be going around creating new potions, I CAN create new equations for Arithmatic transferences, and I can use my Potions knowledge to be self-reliant."

"You just want the glory to yourself," Draco muttered. Granger held her head high.

"If I can do the work on my own, then I should get the credit for it. But that doesn't mean I can't work with someone else." She shot him a look and he shrugged, ignoring the implication that he was being just as antagonistic towards Harry as Harry was towards her.

"Interesting," Prince said at last.

Granger practically beamed at his pronouncement.

"Professor, can I ask… how well did you know Professor Snape?" Granger was in the midst of adding the final ingredients to her potions base and Malfoy, just finishing his own potion, jerked his head up at the question.

Prince considered how honest he should be with these two. They were still his students, but they were also his apprentices. And they were adults who had just fought in a war. McGonagall had cautioned him to let the past stay buried, but… McGonagall be damned.

"He was my first cousin," he admitted. "A few years older than I. He was a fourth year when I started at Hogwarts, and he was just finishing his apprenticeship with Master Flamel when I began mine."

Both students looked at him in shocked silence.

"Oh," Granger said eventually. "So, you two were close?"

"Hardly, but we kept a regular correspondence, especially towards… the end."

"And? Did you know how things were for him?" This question was from Draco, and Prince knew that his answer would do little to satisfy the Slytherin.

"Yes. Severus kept me appraised of the situation in Britain. Of his situation. And of yours, Draco."

The blonde looked momentarily deflated.

"But why – "

"Why did I stay away when I knew my cousin was suffering at the hands of a madman? I gave him my promise, years ago, that I would remain out of that conflict. I have long regretted that promise, but… there was nothing I could have done for him."

"So, what, is this your attempt to make things right?" Malfoy sneered.

"No, it is my attempt to fufill a dying man's last request. I think it's time to cast the preserving charms, or you will be late to supper."

The abrupt change in subject startled them and Malfoy looked mutinous.

"Thank you, sir, for being so candid." Granger tidied up her space and then levitated her cauldron to the side of the room. A moment later Malfoy followed her lead, and silently the two students left the room.

Prince started after them for a long time. He was glad that he had not told them the entire truth – that Severus had written to him on the eve of the Final battle and requested he return, regardless of the outcome, and look after Draco Malfoy. Snape had known his own life was forfeit, and Malfoy was the closest he had ever come to having a child of his own.

So Prince had returned and acted surprised when McGonagall offered Snape's former post to him, and had accepted with the intention of remaining only long enough to see Malfoy healed and settled into a career.

He found teaching the students at Hogwarts to be nearly as painful as Severus had warned him it would be – with the notable exception of his seventh year class. Granger and Malfoy notwithstanding, all the students demonstrated remarkable skill and maturity. It felt as though he were instructing first year apprentices, not school children, and he was grateful for that.

* * *

Hermione and Malfoy parted ways at the entrance to the great hall. The walk up from the dungeons had been silent, and oddly companionable. Hermione had no doubt that Malfoy's thoughts, like her own, were focused on Snape and Prince. She wondered what, exactly, he was thinking, but knew better than to ask.

The time they had spent in the dungeons that morning and afternoon had been slightly surreal. Almost as if a lightswitch had been turned on, Malfoy went back to being his usual pretentious, irritating self. And Hermione had actually found herself enjoying their bickering. One on one, without an audience or extra fodder, Malfoy was actually pretty amusing –and his clever, cutting remarks only spurned her to come up with equally clever comebacks.

She thought about sitting with him and Blaise again for the evening meal, but one glance over at Ron told her that she needed to spend some time with him, as much as she might have welcomed the opportunity to exchange more barbs with Malfoy.

Reluctantly she sat down beside Ron.

"Hi."

He merely grumbled a greeting at her and went back to eating his ridiculously full plate of food. She looked over at Harry, and even he seemed a bit glum.

"How did try-outs go?"

"Oh, just bloody _fantastic_."

Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, that good?"

"That's a fucking Hurricane on the Quidditch pitch right now! Where have you BEEN all day?"

Hermione was taken aback by his anger.

"Really?" She directed her question at Harry, judging him to be calmer.

Harry nodded glumly.

"Oh, wow. I'm… did you get to reschedule?"

"_No_. We had to hold the damn tryouts in nearly impossible playing conditions. We had two fifth years – the best of the lot – fall off their brooms and break their legs just in the warm-ups."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Ron. But, well, you already had a good idea, going in, right?"

"Sure, of half the team. But now we're stuck with a second rate chaser and a beater who's AFRAID of the damn quaffle."

"But… he doesn't have to go near the quaffle, right?"

Ron glared at her and Hermione decided to drop the subject. She looked over at Blaise's table longingly. The Slytherins and Ravenclaws seemed to be deep in debate over something. Hermione was willing to bet it wasn't Quidditch.

Ginny joined them, sitting down beside Harry and looking just as depressed as the boys.

"Honestly, it's only a game!"

That thoughtless comment earned her glares from all of them.

"And what were you doing all day? Brewing potions and playing second fiddle to Malfoy? That's a great way to spend the day, much better than some SILLY GAME."

"Honestly, Ron, I just meant – "

"Meant what? That nothing I do could possibly be as important as anything you do? The great Hermione Granger, working so hard to save the world while her boyfriend just plays a GAME."

Ron threw his fork down and stood up.

"Thanks a lot, Hermione. Real supportive." With that he stormed off and Hermione watched him go, shocked into momentary silence.

"I can't believe him!" She turned back to Harry and Ginny but saw that she would get no sympathy from them.

"I can't believe you, Hermione. He's your boyfriend, and you practically ignore him all week and now – you can't even pretend to be interested in the one thing he's passionate about." Ginny was scowling at her and Harry's silence was just as damning.

"But I've been working!"

"Well if you don't have time for him, then stop stringing him along."

Hermione glared at her, suddenly angry.

"Why don't you mind your own business, Ginny?"

"My brother IS my business, Hermione!"

Unable to tolerate another minute of this conversation, and plagued with sudden doubt, Hermione rose from the table, food untouched, and sent in search of Ron.

She found him in the Gryffindor common room, sitting in one of the wingback chair's by the fireplace and staring moodily into the flames. She could think of nothing to say to him. She knew there was more on his mind that the Quidditch tryouts today – though, _obviously_, that had upset him a lot.

Walking up to him, she resisted the urge to argue her side of things and simply swallowed back anything she was wanted to say. Instead, Hermione sat on the arm of his chair and reached an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against her.

After a moment he sighed and relaxed, bringing one of his hands up to grasp hers.

"Ron –"

"Hermione, I get that you're busy. I get that being Head Girl means a lot to you. And three – THREE – bloody apprenticeships is hard work. And you're taking eight NEWT courses."

"Ron –"

"But there HAS time be time for us."

"Ron –"

"Seriously, Hermione. I love you, you know that, but I need to be with you." He looked up at her, his face serious and troubled.

"Oh Ron, I'm sorry. I just…" she thought of the multitude of excuses she had given to herself over the past week in an attempt to quiet her own guilt at ignoring him. She gave up and sighed. Ron was right. She just had to make time for him. He was important to her, after all.

Suddenly she had an idea and grinned.

Hermione leaned back further on the arm of the chair and crossed her legs. She watched Ron's head turn in her direction, saw his eyes fasten onto her legs as her skirt rode up slightly. He looked up at her, some of his previous anger diminished.

"Ron, do you want a tour of the Head's quarters?"

He frowned.

"Not if it means hanging out with Zabini and Malfoy. They practically live together."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I meant, specifically, my ROOM in the Head's quarters."

"Is this a clothing optional tour?" Ron waggled his eyebrows and Hermione giggled.

"Maybe," she allowed.

"Then lead on, Head Girl."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the reviews – and thanks to you folks who added this to your alerts/favorites lists (three favorites – that's pretty sweet).

Another Chance

Chapter Five

By the next Saturday, it seemed that life at Hogwarts was at last returning to some semblance of normality. After the Slytherin and Hufflepuff try-outs concluded, teams would be set to start practices, with the first match scheduled for the first weekend in November.

The day had been interesting for Blaise. He had decided to watch the Slytherin tryouts from the stands and had been shocked to find Hermione Granger joining him, school bag and books in hand, not ten minutes before the proceedings began.

Blaise thought about holding his tongue, noticing her already red face and slightly defensive posture…but in the end he could not restrain himself. He was, after all, a Slytherin.

"Nice day for studying," he remarked just as Draco signaled the team hopefuls to take to the air.

She glared over at him.

"It _is_ nice light for reading," she said eventually and Blaise saluted her with a finger to his brow.

"Keep an eye on Draco, and you'll see what I mean about flying."

"I've seen him fly before," Granger commented, but set aside her book and concentrated on the blonde Slytherin as he flew lazy circles around the pitch.

"Only when he's flying against Potter. Watch – he'll start to tighten up these spirals and force them to follow him."

Sure enough, the next loop Draco made around the pitch was tighter, as were the next two. On the fourth spiral he turned over his shoulder and used a spell to charm his broom end. Suddenly, jets of green smoke started to trail out of the broom, clearly marking the path he was flying.

"That's a handy spell," Granger muttered beside him.

"Draco learnt it – a few years ago."

Granger looked over at him and nodded in understanding, and he was grateful she did not press the issue.

Soon, the rest of the students were following the green path of smoke while Draco surveyed them from above, occasionally shouting instructions.

"You were right, this IS different than Harry and Ron."

Blaise shot her a knowing smirk.

"I'm not saying it's BETTER, I'm just saying it's different. It's like… the difference between a wild mustang and a thorough-bred stallion. Both are really, well, interesting to watch – but Harry's wild, and just does what feels natural. Draco is so controlled, so… harnessed."

He choked on a laugh at that comparison, and filed it away for later use against Draco.

They sat and watched the rest of the tryouts in companionable, near silence. Every once in a while Granger would lean over and ask a question, but when Draco divided the candidates into two teams and started a scrimmage she picked up her book again, all interest gone.

"Thanks, by the way," Blaise said towards the end, eyes still focused on the pitch as he watched Draco separate the students into two new groups – clearly those who got to go shower, and those who had just made the team. He was interested, though not surprised, by the number of younger students on the team – two sixth years, Draco himself, but the rest of the team and the reserves all appeared to be fourth and fifth years.

"For what?" Granger looked up from her book.

"For Draco. Whatever you said to him, he's back to normal."

"I didn't –"

"I'm not stupid Granger, not like Boy Wonder and your prat of a boyfriend. I hear the way you two talk – something happened, and he doesn't hate you anymore – AND he's back to being his usual, pretentious self. So, thank you."

Granger smiled ever so slightly.

"Yes, well, pretentious arses seem to be an endangered species, these days, I had to do my part in their conservation, that's all."

Blaise smirked.

"Too right you are." He stood and stretched. "Shall we head in before you're seen and accused of trying to sabotage tryouts…again?"

Granger's face turned scarlet and Blaise smirked triumphantly. Well, he had certainly won THAT bet with Draco, even if it had taken two years to collect.

She packed up her stuff and the two of them headed back towards the school, and Blaise, once again finding himself downright _comfortable_ in her presence, thought back over the past week.

Granger had taken to eating breakfast with them whenever Potter and Weasley slept in – which was nearly every day – instead of eating with another group of her own housemates. Blaise did not begrudge her that – after all, he would rather use a spoon to gouge out his own eyeballs than go back to eating with HIS housemates – but it was odd that she and Draco were acting so companionably these days. Their constant bickering had progressed to intellectual debates that even Blaise found himself occasionally unable to follow. Cornfoot and Cartwright were similarly left in the dust, but often the five of them were able to debate as a group. In the past week, Blaise was sure, he had been a part of more intelligent discussion outside of a classroom or library than in the past seven years combined. The evening meal she still took with her friends – and he was positive she spent lunch in either the library or their common room (honestly, who accepted THREE apprenticeships?), but even in classes she had taken to trading barbs with Draco. In potions, Blaise and Granger continued to work well together, but he could tell that she often kept half of her focus on the table in front of them. He found himself doing the same – more for self-preservation than any concern for Draco. If Potter was going to sabotage a potion, Blaise wanted to know so he could take cover.

They were practically friendly these days, and their relationship as Head Boy and Head Girl was pretty nice: they evenly split the work of counseling the other students, making patrol schedules, and conferencing with the faculty. It was true that, more nights than not, Granger would be up late working on her own projects, and so, when a first year missing home or even a fifth year having nightmares about the final battle came knocking, she took care of them. Blaise ran most of the interference between houses during the day – breaking up fights, taking off points, and generally enjoying his position of authority. They worked well together, and he was almost disappointed they had not been able to work together in years previous. Almost, because he knew that if Voldemort were still out there, if wanna-be Death Eaters still had the run of the school, he NEVER would have been able to exchange two pleasant words with Granger.

As they reached the Great Hall Granger waved at him before entering, while he remained outside to wait for Draco – and to douse any suspicions that he had just spent the afternoon with Hermione Granger.

His friend came trooping into the castle moments later, looking tired but happy and relaxed as well. He knew that Draco had missed Quidditch, had missed flying at all, and that today had been something of a healing experience for him.

"Well, that was just pathetic," he greeted Draco, "cradle robbing at its finest. Honestly, do any of them even know how to tie their shoes?"

Draco glared at him and Blaise smirked back in response.

"I've given them all slip-ons, so don't concern yourself over that. I'm surprised you even noticed them – you and Granger seemed to be enjoying yourselves."

There was a hint of something in his voice, but Blaise couldn't pinpoint it.

"As much as one can when one is forced to spend hours debating the merits of Muggle philosophy."

Draco rolled his eyes and proceeded Blaise into the hall.

"Yes, I'm sure it was immensely painful for you." There it was again, and Blaise was shocked to realize that Draco was _jealous_.

"I'll confess, she isn't nearly as bad as she used to be. She's certainly gotten easier to listen to – and easier to look at."

"I didn't think you cared much for the female form," Draco sneered.

"I don't have any _personal_ interest in the female form, it's true, but it doesn't mean I can't acknowledge a pretty girl when I see one."

Draco scowled and sat down at their table, where Cornfoot and Cartwright were already in middle of dinner and a debate.

Blaise sat down beside his friend and surveyed the two students before him. If anything, the weeks he had spent eating with them had convinced him of one thing.

"Stephan, Eleanor, don't prefects have private rooms?"

The two snapped out of their argument and looked over at him.

"Of course, all the prefects have private rooms," Eleanor answered.

"Then, after dinner, why don't you two go up to your room and finally shag each other. It's driving me mental listening to the two of you every meal. Honestly, a first year could feel the tension."

They gave him looks of horror and then looked at each other. They flushed red and turned away.

Beside him Draco smirked.

"You're losing your touch, Blaise. That was about as subtle as Jones' attempts to send me love letters. Sure you haven't been spending too much time with Granger?"

"Yeah," Eleanor jumped in, snatching an opportunity to deflect detention from herself. "Perhaps _you _are the one who should be making use of your private room."

Both Blaise and Draco choked on their pumpkin juice. Cornfoot looked mildly amused, but Eleanor arched an eyebrow at them, obviously offended that her suggestion had been met with such universal shock.

"Um, I'd rather pass," Blaise finally managed, voice slightly hoarse.

That set Draco off and the blonde man choked yet again. Blaise sent him a quelling look and Draco pulled himself together.

"How are things going for you, these days, Blaise? Any luck with your… studies?" Draco asked, smirk firmly in place.

Blaise restrained from throttling his best friend and from looking up at the head table. His efforts to gain their new Head of House's attention had thus far had little success – however, he had a meeting with Professor Viridian tomorrow afternoon, to discuss House discipline, and Blaise had already formed at least three plans for turning the meeting into something else.

Draco shook his head at the look on Blaise's face, partially amused and partially pitying. Blaise opened his mouth to make a comment about Draco's own non-existent prospects, but Hermione Granger chose that moment to sit on the other side of Draco.

The four students took in her angry face and clenched jaw and decided to pretend nothing had happened.

"Things are going accordingly, Draco. But going back to the topic of private rooms – how have YOU been making out these days? Why, just the other day I saw Megan Jones walk into a WALL because she was watching you bend over to tie your shoes."

Draco snorted in disgust, but, beside him, Granger started to look even more furious.

"She's not bad looking, Malfoy," Cornfoot put in from across the table. "'Sides, everyone needs a distraction."

"That is it!" Granger slammed down her goblet of pumpkin juice, splattering some on herself and Draco. "We are in school to learn, not to gallivant around the castle having midnight assignations. Honestly, can no one concentrate on their studies or are you all slaves to your libido?"

Wow, Blaise thought, there was definitely trouble in paradise. He chanced a look over at her usual table and saw that Weasley was sending them a glare. He wondered what had happened between the two that had send Granger over here. He knew that THEY were making time for distractions – twice now he had caught Weasley leaving in the middle of the night looking rumpled and satisfied. Not so satisfied after Blaise had taken off points for being out after curfew, but obviously he had enjoyed his time in the Head Girl's room.

"Um," Stephan began, but Blaise shot him a warning look. Seven years of potions classes with Granger had taught him NOT to interrupt when she was in a mood like this.

"And what if Malfoy would prefer to study than distract himself with a girl who's 'not too bad looking' – that's his right! Some of us have plans for our lives and maybe settling down and popping out an entire bloody Quidditch team right after graduation simply isn't at the top of the list of things to do!"

So that was it.

"Granger, I hate to break it to you, but I have NO plans of popping out one Quidditch player, much less an entire team. Perhaps Muggle sexual education is a bit behind, but I thought they would have taught you the essential differences in male and female physiology." Draco delivered this as deadpan as possible, and Blaise silently bid his friend adieu – but, to their collective shock, Granger simply started to laugh.

It was another moment before conversation returned to the table, and Blaise couldn't help but notice that Draco looked rather pleased with himself.

"We've spoken to Professor Prince, and he's giving the Ravenclaw seventh years to stay out in Hogsmeade next Saturday night to hear Alexander Faraday speak at the quill shop." Eleanor said after Granger had managed to pull herself together.

"What's he lecturing on?" Granger asked, obviously intrigued.

"Metaphysical Transference," Eleanor answered and Granger looked like Christmas had come early. Blaise caught Cornfoot's eye and shook his head. The Ravenclaw nodded in acknowledgement of Granger's predictability.

"You should ask Professor Weasley if you can go, I'm sure he'll let YOU stay out," Eleanor added, perhaps making it a bit too clear that she thought the new head of Gryffindor showed Granger favoritism.

Granger scowled as she picked up on the hint.

"I don't see why he wouldn't, after all, I am the Head Girl – and the Heads are required to act as chaperones for all Hogsmeade visits." Her reply had been very diplomatic, and Blaise smirked at the sour look on Eleanor's face. It was very clear the two girls were NOT going to become friends anytime soon. Blaise had noticed that Granger had the effect on most other girls her age, though. Especially after fourth year, when she had shown up to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum looking more polished than a bookish, Muggle-born witch with wild hair had a right to. Even Blaise had been a little jealous of her. Granger, gifted with an intelligence that seemed inhuman, bravery, the ability to become 'just one of the boys' and, as the years went on, stunning good looks, was simply too difficult for another girl to be friends with unless that girl was similarly well endowed. It was not surprising that even Eleanor Cartwright, a pure-blood and decently pretty, would feel jealous of Granger.

"Excellent point," Blaise put in before the girls could start in on each other. Shall we plan on meeting up there or do you think your usual companions will be joining you, Granger?" He didn't mind the thought of attending a lecture with their current company – but he drew the line at the mere thought of Weasley and Potter being there. He seriously doubted either boy even knew how to _spell_ Magical Transference, much less understood its basic principles.

"No, I don't think they'll want to tag along," Granger answered, a slight smirk on her face. The smirk didn't stay there for long.

Ron Weasley had apparently decided to come and save his errant girlfriend from them.

Standing to her left and glaring at all of them in turn, he waited until Granger had sighed and looked up at him before speaking.

"Mione, we need to talk."

"_Ronald_, I'm having dinner with my friends. It can wait."

Ouch. Blaise was willing to put money down that these two were on the verge of breaking up – although, to be fair, he was convinced that they had been on the verge of breaking up since their first year.

"Hermione, please." Weasley was clearing uncomfortable and growing angry.

"Ron – "

"Weasel, the lady wants to finish her meal in peace, shove off before you waste more of our oxygen. Some of us plan on using our brains in the near future, and you're about to give all of us aneurisms."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Weasley's face turned its customary shade of purple.

"Malfoy, you scum, this has nothing to do with you! I'm trying to talk to my girlfriend! Get lost!"

"You came over to our table and interrupted _our_ meal," Draco pointed out smoothly. "I think it's you who should get lost and STOP wasting our time."

"You little –"

"Ron, stop. Come on, let's go." Granger stood up and put had to actually shove Weasley away from the table before the enraged boy would even acknowledge her. There was a tense moment, as all of them were convinced that Ron would push her aside and have a go at Draco.

"Ron." She had that tone – the one she used on misbehaving third years – and Weasley instantly snapped out of whatever maniacal fantasy he had been indulging in and allowed her to lead him out of the Great Hall.

"Well, that was fun," Draco remarked as he heaped a second helping of potatoes onto his plate.

* * *

Hermione and Ron made the walk up to the fourth floor, and the Heads dormitory, in complete, painful silence. She knew he was furious with her – but she was none too happy with him either.

For the last week things had been… tense between them, to say the least. Last Saturday, when Hermione had invited Ron up to her room, things had not gone as well as she had wanted them to. Blaise and Malfoy had _both_ been in the common room when they climbed through the portrait hole, Ron already starting to unbutton her blouse, and that had made for an awkward moment as they made a beeline for her room, Hermione too mortified to say anything and Malfoy – for once – holding his tongue. Knowing that the two Slytherin's were just outside her room , no doubt making snide comments about her and Ron, had rather put her off. After a long, awkward snog, she had asked Ron to leave and, frustrated, he had done so. She prayed that Malfoy and Blaise were gone when she left, but the next morning she found out that they had, in fact still been in the common room when Ron stormed out. Malfoy had made several biting remarks about proper Head Girl behavior at breakfast, including a dig about her being a tease that had driven her to the point of pulling her wand out before Blaise intervened.

During the week she had had precious little time for Ron – she spent her lunch break in the library trying to keep ahead on her school work, while she split her time after classes between private sessions with Professor Vector and Professor Babbling, developing projects for her apprenticeships and assisting each professor with their current research projects. She also had to find time for Professor Prince, and had unfortunately only been able to make it down to the dungeons on those nights that Malfoy did. The first night had been unbearable, without Prince around, Malfoy had taken every opportunity to ridicule her skills and her relationship with Ron. It had gotten to the point that she had threatened to castrate him if he didn't shut up and leave her alone. After that, Malfoy had reverted to the type of insults and barbs that they had engaged in after their confrontation in the hall last Saturday.

Ron, on the other hand, insisted on coming up to her room every night. She had managed to put him off a few times, but had given in twice. Those nights had been… disappointing for Hermione.

When she and Ron had decided to start a relationship over the summer, she had made it clear to him that while at Hogwarts, school came first. He had been exasperated, but had agreed to humor her. So they made the most of the summer, physically progressing their relationship quite faster than Hermione had planned, while emotionally they seemed stuck back at square one: they still bickered over tiny, inconsequential things and Hermione still didn't understand how Ron could view the world in such a simple, black and white way, his childhood dreams still intact while she floundered about with no clue what to do with her life.

The first time they had had sex had been an unmitigated disaster – both of them had been virgins and the experience had been awkward and unsatisfying and had resulted in them not speaking to each other for two weeks. And then one night Ron had shown up in her room holding a _book_. Hermione had actually started to cry when he started to reference the chapters he had already read and showed her diagrams. Yes, it had been _A Wizard's Guide to Pleasure_, but it was still a _book_, and so they had given it another go. And another, and another – until they had gotten it right. Sex wasn't what Hermione had thought it was supposed to be, and Ron's kisses and caresses were not as exciting as Viktor Krum's had been, back in her fourth year. To say she was disappointed was an exaggeration… but every time Ron decided to be amorous, Hermione found herself prioritizing her homework and trying to calculate just how long it would take before he was finished and she could kick him out of her room.

Even Hermione, as socially awkward as she was, knew that things weren't that good for either of them, but she figured that eventually they would work it out… it would just take time.

Tonight, when she had sat down at their table, she had sensed an argument brewing.

"Where've you been?" He asked as she sat down.

"Studying," she answered, somewhat truthfully. After all, she had spent the last hour of tryouts reading the Arithmancy text Vector had given her on Friday afternoon.

Ron had shaken his head, clearly still annoyed with her.

"I got a letter from Mum today. She said that Fleur is pregnant," Ginny jumped in, ready to divert yet another argument between Hermione and her brother.

"That's great," Hermione said, genuinely happy. She looked up at the staff table and saw that Bill was looking troubled. No doubt he was still concerned that any of his children might suffer the same symptoms of lycanthropy that he did.

"Mum's over the moon – she can't wait to be a grandmother." Ginny shot a coy look at Harry, and the green eyed boy at her side allowed himself a small smile. It was no secret that those two planned to marry as soon as Ginny graduated from Hogwarts next year. Harry, who had never really had a family of us own, had confided to Hermione over the summer that all he wanted was to graduate from Hogwarts, marry Ginny, and raise children who would never have to grow up without parents, or fear that a dark wizard would haunt their childhood. The conversation had resulted in both of them crying and clinging to each other for nearly an hour after.

"I'll bet she'll spoil the baby rotten," Hermione said and Harry nodded in agreement.

"Mum loves kids – just wait til she gets more than one grand kid to focus on." Ron shot her a look and Hermione could feel a migraine forming. She KNEW that look.

"Well, she'll have to wait a bit before Ginny and Harry are ready to add their own," Hermione said.

"But not until we – "

"Ron, we've had this discussion before."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Hermione, you can do research from home, while you take care of the kids. We've talked about that before, too."

Hermione fought to control her temper. Yes, RON had mentioned that before, no doubt in the hopes that she would be too preoccupied with taking care of their children to want to keep working. Ron made no secret of the fact that he thought she would grow out of her desire to have a career.

"Not the kind of research I want to do. Ron, I don't think now is the time for this conversation."

"You never do – you're always too busy with your studies to do _anything_."

Harry and Ginny were starting to look uncomfortable.

"Ron! What are you –"

"You're selfish, Hermione. All you do is think of yourself. But we're in a relationship, and that means you've got to give me time. I give you time!"

Hermione sputtered.

"You give me time? When? In between Quidditch and wanting to fool around – when do you give me time?"

"The fooling around IS time!"

"No, it isn't. What about us just sitting and talking – just spending time together!"

"And talk about what?" Ron looked absolutely baffled and his incomprehension, paired with the looks Harry and Ginny were sending her, drove Hermione to the limit of her patience.

"I can't sit with you right now." He rose from the table and spun around, prepared to leave the hall, when she caught sight of Malfoy, Blaise, Eleanor, and Stephan. She refused to run away just because Ron was a prat. So she made up her mind to actually sit with people she enjoyed being around and stalked across the hall to take the open seat beside Malfoy.

Now, as she gestured for Ron to enter her room, Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that things were about to get even worse between them.

Ron sat on her bed, leaving enough space on either side of him that she could have joined him. Hermione elected to sit in the arm chair beside her window, across from the bed and a safe distance away.

He scowled at her choice and crossed his arms, looking like nothing more than a child ready to throw a tantrum.

"Ron –"

"No, you listen, for once, listen to someone else talk, Hermione."

That shut her up immediately. She snapped her mouth closed and blinked back angry tears.

"Hermione Granger, you might be the smartest witch of our generation – or ever, for that matter – but you don't know _shit_ about how to treat people. I don't know if you've noticed, Hermione, but you happen to be dating one of the best guys in the school. I'm captain of the Quidditch team, I've got a spot in the Auror Academy when I graduate – and I've got witches coming up to me every _day_ wanting to meet at the Astronomy tower. You're lucky to have me, Hermione. Really lucky – and what do you do? You bury yourself under books! When will you open your eyes and see what's right in front of you? Stop thinking about ten years down the road and start thinking about now. Because if things don't change, there's not going to BE a you and me in ten years."

She was left speechless.

"No one is ever going to treat you as well as I do. No one is ever going to care about you like I do. And you…you don't even seem to enjoy it when we have sex."

"I…"

"You're just. God, Hermione, you drive me insane! Why can't you ever see me – why can't I ever be enough for you?"

"Well clearly I'm not enough for you either! Why are we even together if you hate me so much?" Hermione didn't bother to fight back her tears now.

"I don't hate you, Hermione! I… I love you!"

"What about me could you possibly love, Ronald?"

"I… Hermione, you're one of my best friends and," he paused, obviously searching for what to say next. He sighed and rose from the bed and crossed the room to kneel in front of her. He took her hands in his.

"Hermione you're one of my best friends. You know me better than I know myself, and you look out for me. You care for me and you see the best in me. And, you're really cute, Hermione," He reached up and brushed her hair behind her ears, "when you take the time for it, anyway."

She knew that Ron was being sincere and that he really believed he was complimenting her. And that hurt worse than what he had said earlier.

"Ron, that's not enough."

"What?"

"Everything you said – all of that is about you! What about me? Do you like me for… me? Do you think I'm funny or –"

"Hermione, you KNOW you don't have a sense of humor. You think that practical jokes are a complete waste of time."

"Practical jokes are NOT the only way to be funny, Ron!"

"You are pretty sarcastic – not as bad as Snape, but you're not too far off either," Ron conceded. "But I – I don't like that about you at all. And you never agree with me – you always have to win."

"Because I'm right!"

"Because you can't stand to let someone else get their way!"

"That is not true!"

He pulled away from her and stood. He started to pace in front of her.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! You're always like this!"

"Would you rather I follow you around adoringly and treat you like a king? Like Lavender?" She asked, sarcasm at full force.

"Honestly, it wouldn't be too bad compared with the way you treat me now. Merlin, Hermione, you sat with Draco Malfoy tonight at dinner! And don't think I haven't heard that you have breakfast with him too!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He's our enemy, Hermione, and you spend more time with him than with Harry and I!"

"He's not our enemy any more. He's grown up and he's changed."

"Bullshit. I sit across from you in Potions, I can hear what he says to Harry – what he says to you!"

"Harry almost got him killed last week when he added the bezoar! Of course Malfoy was mad at that!"

"It was a joke!"

"The potion turned to acid! And Malfoy doesn't mean any of what he says to me – he's just joking around."

"He called you a stupid Muggle."

"And I called him an inbred parsnip. Can't you tell that we aren't trying to hurt each other, we're just… talking."

Ron looked at her as though she were mental. He shook his head sadly.

"Hermione. I can't do this anymore."

"You're breaking up with me."

"No, no. I'm just saying that something's got to change."

"And that something has to be me?"

He looked up.

"Well, yeah. I'm doing all I can here!"

She shook her head, suddenly completely exhausted.

"Ron, you should leave."

"But – we're not even done talking about this."

"Yes, we are. I'm done. You've made it quite clear that I'm not _good_ enough for you. So… let's not waste anymore of our precious time. We're finished. We were rubbish together anyway. You ARE one of my best friends, and I will always love you. But this… this isn't good for either of us."

"So we'll fix it!"

"No, no, Ron. This isn't something I even _want_ to fix. I'm finished. I need to concentrate on my school work."

His face instantly hardened.

"Fine. Go back to your _books_. That's all you will ever have, anyway. You know what – Hermione Granger you're just a bitter, dried up prude. You might as well start dressing like McGonagall, because you are going to end up just like her. Alone, old, and frigid." With that he left, slamming her door after him.

Hermione sat there in a daze for several minutes before eventually standing. She smoothed her school uniform and scrubbed at her face. She blinked back her tears and opened her door.

Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini sat in the common room, intent on what appeared to be their Charms homework. Neither boy looked up.

"You heard every word, didn't you."

"Well, not _every _word," Blaise said, finally glancing in her direction.

"I certainly didn't here Weasel begging you to spare his life – and I know you HAD to have threatened to cut off his balls after what he said to you."

This was from Malfoy, and delivered so dryly that Hermione choked on a laugh that quickly turned into a sob.

"Well done, Draco, make her _cry!"_ Blaise hissed.

"I wasn't trying to this time!" Malfoy looked almost regretful.

Hermione took a few deep breaths and forced herself to pull it together. It was clear that both men were incredibly uncomfortable with tears.

"Sorry," she said when she finally felt calm enough to talk.

"Right. Well, I know I heard you mention something about school work, and I've got a question about the Obfuscating Charm. Grab your books and be useful, will you?" Blaise still looked uncomfortable, but Hermione could have kissed him.

It was strange, but a few weeks ago, if someone had told her that two weeks into school she would find herself spending a Saturday night working on her homework with Blaise Zabini and _Draco Malfoy_ she would have laughed in their face. Now, though, she really couldn't think of something she would rather be doing.

* * *

Sorry, I usually try to do 3 POV's per chapter – but this was already longer than I meant it to be, so we've just got the two this time.

Well, now that Ron's out of the way, we'll see what happens next.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews and the awesome number of folks who have added this to their alerts list.

And a note about Blaise: I really didn't intend for him to become so prominent, but he's awfully fun to write, and I promise, this fic still focused on Hermione and Draco. But, if you feel there's too much Blaise – you should totally leave a review and say so, and I'll gladly consider it. Also, let me know how you feel about reading about a slash couple… I might or might not go too graphic on that depending on your responses.

Another Chance

Chapter Six

Blaise also took care when choosing his wardrobe: first impressions were everything, after all, and clothing _certainly_ made the man. Living at Hogwarts and following the dress code meant that he had few opportunities to wear clothing of his choice, but he made the most of those opportunities. The weekends were always to be taken advantage of, and today, the Sunday of his conference with Professor Viridian, was more of an occasion than most.

So it took him nearly twice as long to get dressed. Eventually he settled on a forest green, turtle-necked jumper and charcoal trousers. He brushed his hair into artful disarray and then considered his overall image in his mirror.

Blaise was tall, a few inches taller than Draco even, and his broad shoulders and lean, muscular build made him look older than his seventeen years. His complexion was pale – according to his mother's family – but his skin retained just enough of a tan that he looked different than his peers, golden almost. His eyes were green, a shade not unlike Potter's, and one of his best features. Combined with his dark hair and sharp features, Blaise knew that he was one of the most attractive boys in school.

The problem, of course, was that he wasn't interested in making more school-boy conquests. He had already made his way through most of the sixth and seventh year boys he judged to be worthy of his time – with, of course, the notable exception of Draco. His best friend had made it quite clear that while he had no problem with Blaise's sexuality, if he ever tried to make a pass at him, then the Malfoy heir would ensure that Blaise was hexed to within an inch of his life and then castrated. The threat didn't stop Blaise from teasing or flirting with Draco, but he knew that the boundaries had been laid and he would not trespass. Draco was too valuable of an ally, even now, for Blaise to jeopardize their friendship.

So, halfway through last year, Blaise had abruptly run out of viable partners. The ensuing drought had coincided with the escalation of tension and battles before the Final Battle, and Blaise had been able to ignore the boredom and sexual frustration that lurked at the edge of his consciousness. After all, survival was more important that getting laid.

Now, however, the war was past and Blaise had found a new subject of interest: his new Head of House, Vindictus Viridian. He knew it was a long shot, knew that Draco thought he was mental… but, it was his last year at Hogwarts and he really didn't have anything to lose in trying. He had checked the rules: Professors were forbidden to have relationships with underage students. That was it.

Which left Viridian as the only complication: he really had no idea if the man was interested in, well, other men, or if Blaise was the type he would go for. Not to mention that Slytherin sexual politics were always a challenge – one of the other reasons Blaise washed his hands of his own house – and getting involved with a man at least ten years his elder and _Head_ of Slytherin… it was a dangerous gamble.

But then, Blaise liked to gamble.

When he finally made his way down to breakfast Malfoy and Granger were already in the middle of yet another debate – honestly, did the two of them realize that they didn't have to argue over _everything_? He was mildly interested about their topic – Muggle literature that depicted Magical beings – but wisely decided to remain out of it. They tended to get snippy whenever they were interrupted.

Blaise thought that it was an interesting development – Granger and Malfoy and their… unique relationship. It was clear that they two, while intellectual equals, still found each other to be annoying and, on the whole, lacking essential qualities. That didn't seem to stop them from spending most of their free time together, however, and Blaise wondered how long it would be before they actually progressed to admitting they valued each other as friends. At the rate they were going, Blaise had his money on Graduation Day.

"Morning," he said when they had seemed to reach a conclusion.

"Good morning, Blaise. You look, _nice_." Granger flushed as she added the last and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Granger, you just got rid of your boyfriend last night – shouldn't you wait at least twenty-four hours before you proposition me?"

She rolled her eyes and Draco shook his head.

"She's right, you dressed up for anything in particular?" There was a gleam of mischief in Draco's eyes and Blaise glared at him. Draco _knew_ exactly why he was dressed up.

"Not all of us are intent on passing ourselves off as depressed vagrants, Draco," he gave his friend a rather pointed look. Draco looked down at himself, taking in his outfit of school trousers and a blue-button up under a well worn gray sweater.

"Um… I wouldn't describe Malfoy as approaching vagrant status yet, Blaise. He's not gotten to the point of wearing jeans, after all."

Malfoy made a face at the very suggestion and Granger smiled.

"You wear them," Blaise pointed out. In point of fact, she was currently dressed in a form-fitting pair of jeans and a brown jumper. Her hair was pulled back and for all the obvious lack of effort she had put into her appearance this morning, she still looked nice – and far from broken hearted.

"But I'm Muggle-born, I grew up wearing them. I've never seen either of you in jeans. Not in seven years."

"Granger, I didn't realize you spent so much of your time admiring us," Blaise said and smirked as she flushed again. She really was pretty easy to bait.

"Why is it that you don't wear them?"

"You said it yourself, they're Muggle," Draco pointed out.

"But so are trousers – and jumpers – and laced shoes, and ties, and vests, and –"

"Yes, all of those are Muggle, but they've been worn for, what, at least one hundred – nearly two hundred years. Correct?"

She nodded and Blaise continued.

"So the Wizarding World just takes a while to incorporate Muggle clothes. Give it another fifty years and I'm sure that pure-bloods will start to wear jeans."

Granger looked ready to ask more questions about the subject, but a shadow fell over their table.

Blaise looked up and locked eyes with Viridian.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini." He inclined his head slightly and the three students offered a chorus of good-mornings. "Mr. Zabini, I trust you have not forgotten our appointment this afternoon."

"Of course not, sir. Four o'clock?"

Viridian nodded and walked off. Blaise caught himself before he could watch – Draco already had enough fodder as it was.

Across the table, Granger cleared her throat. Blaise looked at her, curious to find her blushing yet again.

"Yes?"

"Um, Blaise… you wouldn't be dressed up for your meeting with Professor Viridian, would you?"

Draco looked ready to explode.

"I certainly wouldn't show up to a meeting with my head of house wearing jeans," Blaise answered.

Granger looked over at Draco and then back at Blaise.

"Shame. I'm sure you'd look pretty good in a nice pair of jeans."

Draco lost it at that and burst out coughing. Granger looked pleased with herself.

Blaise glared at the both of them.

"You don't think that it's a bit dangerous?" Granger was looking mildly concerned.

"Wearing jeans? No, not particularly."

She rolled her eyes and looked to Draco for support, but the blonde Slytherin was studiously ignoring the both of them. Blaise appreciated that – he had gone through this debate with Draco enough times to want to avoid yet another repeat.

"No, propositioning a teacher!" She hissed, leaning closer to the table. "And your own head of house! And a Slytherin."

"Granger, in case you forgot, I'm a Slytherin."

She leaned back and looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Would you have even dreamed of propositioning Professor Snape?"

"Merlin no, I've never been too keen on being murdered."

"Well, how is this different? You really think Viridian will appreciate you… you know?"

Blaise smirked at her loss of words.

"Well I'm hardly going to strip and spread myself over his desk and demand he fuck me, Granger."

"Ew. Ew. Did not need that mental image, ever, Blaise. Thanks a lot. Granger, cast an obliviate on me will you, I know you're good with memory charms." Draco was scrubbing at his eyes. Blaise shook his head, amused by him, and almost missed the tortured look that came over Granger's face.

"Oh come on, it's not that disgusting," he jested and she seemed to shake herself out of her thoughts.

"No, of course not. I just…"

Draco's hand dropped from his eyes and he turned to her.

"You just fantasize about our dear Blaise so much already that it doesn't take much effort?"

Granger punched his shoulder and then turned back to Blaise.

"You'll be careful, right?"

"Honestly, Granger, I didn't know you cared."

She shook her head at him and then turned to Draco.

"Are you ready to head down to the dungeons?"

Draco nodded and stood from the table. They were stopped by the arrival of yet another professor.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Might I have a word with you?" It was Professor Smith, and the man was being scarily polite.

Even Granger seemed a bit put off by his open smile.

"Um, I've got to go to the dungeons and work on a potion…"

"Of course. Tea, then, this afternoon, in my office." Now he was more in character, and it was clear that it was not a request.

Granger nodded and then looked over at Draco.

"Don't tell me _you're_ going around propositioning Professors as well, Granger."

She glared at him and stalked off. Draco waved good-bye to Blaise and then took off after her.

Which left Blaise alone for the next eight hours until his meeting with Viridian.

He managed to keep himself sane by working on his studies – and by three-thirty he had finished all of his homework for the coming week. He finally made his way down to the dungeons and Professor Viridian's office at a quarter-til-four.

Blaise knocked on the door only once before Viridian called for him to enter.

He closed the door behind him and looked around the office that had once been Professor Snape's. It was clear of all animal specimens, for which Blaise was grateful, and instead was tastefully and sparsely decorated with dark, cherry furniture. The dungeon walls also looked far cleaner than they had during Snape's tenure, and the green glow from the lake was reflected off of the highly polished furniture.

Viridian was seated behind his desk, but rose as Blaise entered and gestured for him to sit in one of the armchairs situated by the fireplace.

After both student and professor had seated themselves a tea service appeared on the table between them. Silently they prepared their own tea and Blaise fought to keep his nerves under control. He had been interrogated by the Carrows – he could face _tea_ with Viridian.

"Mr. Zabini, I must say that I find the Slytherin house to be in considerably better shape than I thought it would be."

Blaise thought it was a compliment – and Merlin knew he had been working constantly to keep his house from picking fights with the other houses, and had gone out of his way more times than he could count to save the younger members of his own house from ambushes and pranks arranged by students still bearing a grudge.

He inclined his head and thought of all the ways this could be more awkward. The list was surprisingly short.

"I have noticed, however, that Draco Malfoy seems to be shunning the rest of the Slytherins."

Well, bringing up Draco _had _been on the list. Blaise wasn't about to confess the reasons for Draco's ex-patriot status, so he tried to distract Viridian's line of thought.

"I think that the tryouts yesterday gave Draco an opportunity to re-engage with our house."

Viridian arched one dark eyebrow.

"Which explains why I've already had _eight_ students complain about his choices for the team."

"As prideful as Slytherins are, I don't think all of us are above the desire to whinge to a higher authority." Blaise interjected as much scorn as he could. "However, I watched the proceedings and Draco seemed to have chosen wisely and fairly, with an eye to creating a strong team for future years and not just this one." Blaise shrugged. "I think he should be commended for his choices, not censured."

Viridian now looked amused and Blaise fought to remain stoic. Damn, but the man had smirking down to an art form.

"How do you think the Slytherins are coping with the… new balance of things?"

Blaise considered his response carefully.

"It is certainly an adjustment, especially after last year, but the young students are very resilient. The sixth and seventh years… it was never going to be easy for them. Many were forced to commit themselves to the Cause, regardless of their own wishes, and now, whatever reservations they might have had, they are being cast as the enemy. It's no secret that a lot of students think our whole house should be in Azkaban. I'm doing what I can to run interference, and Hermione Granger has been very… supportive."

Viridian studied him for a moment.

"And you, Blaise, where did you stand commit your loyalties?"

Blaise raised his chin, not appreciating the implication.

"To myself, as always. I never had an interest in being one of Voldemort's slaves, nor did I see the point in joining a group of people just as prejudiced and stupid – regardless of the fact that they were in the right."

The man across from him released a dry chuckle.

"Very good. Blaise, what are your plans for after graduation?"

"The same as ever – return home and take control of the family investments."

"And where is home?"

"Venice." He shrugged. "Not that I intend to remain there. After my position is secure I will return to England. There are quite a few investment opportunities, as well as a much more… interesting wizarding community here." Blaise looked up and met Viridian's gaze. The older man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not break the contact.

"Indeed. The young are often intrigued with more _interesting _prospects."

The contact continued and Blaise felt his palms grow damp. This man was intense, and Blaise suddenly felt a little out of his depth.

"I might be young, Master Viridian, but I know my mind. And my desires."

Viridian smirked again and leaned back in his chair, looking very relaxed and amused.

"Tell me, Blaise, what are your thoughts on the current political climate and the Ministry's educational decrees regarding Dark Magic?"

Blaise was momentarily taken aback and he blinked, breaking eye contact. Was Viridian asking him to… debate?

Viridian looked expectant and Blaise marshaled his thoughts, grateful that he had recently spent so much time with Granger and Malfoy and their constant quarreling.

"Obviously the current administration is reacting very strongly to the war. Inappropriately strong, I might add. The Ministry approved curriculum is pathetic – and I'm grateful that Hogwarts decided to thumb its nose at the administration and continue to teach Defense and the Dark Arts as openly as it does."

"Really? You don't think that such open knowledge would provoke the rise of yet another Dark Lord?"

"Hardly. Look at Voldemort. He rose to power in the wake of the war with Grindewald. A time when the restrictions on learning about the Dark Arts were perhaps more stringent than now. Voldemort was evil, there's no getting around that, and he would have learnt and done what he wanted regardless of ministry restrictions. But the number of powerful followers he was able to amass in his early years is testament to the fact that humans are drawn to what they cannot have."

Blaise dared to look at Viridian in the eye again.

"You are suggesting that the lure of the taboo out-weighs common sense."

"Yes."

"And that it results in disaster."

Crap. Viridian looked highly amused and Blaise tried to think his way out of the hole he had just dug.

"In the case of delving into the Dark Arts, of course. However, human kind often views its darkest and deepest desires as something to be feared, instead of embraced. Delving into those desires will not always result in defeat. In cases, in can actually have a very positive result."

That could have been said better, but Viridian seemed to appreciate it all the same. Viridian leaned forward to put his tea down and then stood. Blaise forced himself to hold in his disappointment at what was obviously the end of their meeting and rose as well.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Blaise." Viridian said. "Shall we meet again next week?"

"Of course, sir. It will be my pleasure." Blaise locked eyes with his professor yet again, willing the other man to show _something_ that would give Blaise even a hint of encouragement.

Viridian's eyebrow arched yet again.

"Blaise, I was given the impression that you were one of the brightest students in the school."

"Yes sir?"

"And yet I find that your vocabulary seems peculiarly limited this afternoon. Or have you simply developed a fixation on words like _pleasure_ and _desire_?" There was a slightly predatory gleam in Viridian's eyes now and Blaise felt simultaneously triumphant and terrified.

"Perhaps I have, sir. My apologies." Blaise held out his hand, ready to end the meeting and retreat before he made a fool of himself.

Viridian took his hand, grip strong and warm. He shook their joined hands once, and then released Blaise. The boy started to turn away, but Viridian reached out and grabbed his hand again, grabbing his wrist and pulling him close.

Blaise suddenly found himself inches from his professor and forced to stare up at his intense, pale eyes.

"Sir?" He tried for arrogance and fell somewhere closer to desperate.

Viridian smirked.

"Blaise, if I were you, I would reconsider my notions of pursuing my darkest desires. While it's true you probably won't find yourself following in Voldemort's path," Viridian started to rub circles with his thumb onto Blaise's palm, "it's doubtful you will come out of such an encounter as… determined as you were when you entered into it."

Blaise knew they were entering dangerous territory and he felt a thrill. Was Viridian actually daring him? That was a mistake if the man hoped to scare him off.

"I've been determined to have my way since I did my first wandless magic, sir, and I welcome all experiences to learn. After all, that is the point of education, is it not? To be guided by our elders?"

"Careful you don't follow someone off a cliff, with that blind obedience."

"I never implied that I was blind." Blaise smirked. "Or particularly obedient. Professor."

Blaise pulled his hand up, Viridian's grasp still firm, and looked into his professors eyes for one long moment before he closed his own. He bent his head over Viridian's hand and placed his lips on the rough, tanned flesh of his knuckles.

He felt Viridian tense and, more daring than he had any right to be, opened his mouth slightly, just enough to taste the other man. Viridian released a sound that sounded somewhere between a groan and a hiss of pain. Blaise allowed himself an internal grin, and then, because he _was_ a Slytherin, he bit down, just hard enough to cause a brief moment of pain, and then stood back up.

Viridian released him and looked at him, eyes unreadable.

Blaise smirked.

"Still, I would hope that my professors are similarly prepared to forge into the darkness without either of us going off the edge," he said and then left, before he could do more damage or risk getting expelled.

It wasn't until he had made his way to the library that his heartrate returned to normal.

He nodded a terse greeting to Madame Pince and then headed straight for the Restricted Section, intent of finding a spell he could use to kill himself. If he didn't, he was sure that Viridian would do it himself the next time they met.

* * *

Hermione barely had enough time to run up to her room and change before her meeting with Smith. It didn't help that Malfoy taunted her about 'dressing up' for her professor as they cleaned up after their brewing, but she ignored them as best she could and mentally catalogued her wardrobe. She really _didn't_ want to dress up for the meeting – more because Malfoy would never let her live it down than any other reason, but at the same time, she felt that having tea with one of her professors required more than her current, casual look.

So she pulled off her jeans and jumper and settled on a black, a-line skirt that hit just above her knees and a lavender button-up shirt. She finished off the outfit with a pair of ballet flats and then let, because she still had fifteen minutes, brushed out her hair until it felt in relatively controlled waves over her shoulders.

Satisfied that she looked nice, but hardly nice enough to be mistaken as propositioning Smith, Hermione put on lip gloss and made her way down to the office that had once been McGonagall's.

The door was already open when she arrived, but Hermione nevertheless knocked.

"Come in," Smith called and Hermione let herself in, closing the door behind her. If she was about to get into trouble, she definitely didn't want anyone to overhear. Considering that she had absolutely no idea why Smith wanted to meet with her, Hermione thought it was a safe precaution.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Thank you for joining me. Please, have a seat." Smith gestured for her to take one of the armchairs arranged by the fireplace and joined her after a moment of tidying his desk. As soon as he sat down a tea service appeared on the table between them.

"How do you like your tea, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, um, just a bit of honey."

He added her request, gave the cup a brief stir, and then passed it over to her.

"Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure." Hermione watched as he prepared his own tea, momentarily fascinated by the way his fingers held the spoon and tea cup. He really was pale, even his hands, but it seemed that the time he had already spent away from Russia at least had his skin looking healthy.

"Miss Granger –"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but am I in trouble?"

Smith looked momentarily confused and then he chuckled.

"No, of course not." He paused. "Unless, at this school, inviting a student for tea is indicative of forthcoming punishment?"

He waited for her response, his expression mock serious and Hermione found herself smiling back at him.

"Not generally, sir."

"Good. I thought not. Whatever made you think you had done something wrong?"

"I… well," Hermione paused, unsure of how candid Smith wanted her to be, but then she decided to commit herself. "Transfiguraton is one of my best classes."

"I agree, though I have been given to understand that you don't have a _worst_ class."

Hermione smiled at the compliment.

"Thank you. I am used to Professor McGonagall, and - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything about your skills as a teacher. I think you are doing a really fantastic job, and the class is very interesting – and challenging. I, uh, well, I simply meant that…you seem to ignore me in class." There, she had said it. And it was true – she had started off the year as eager as ever, and had been disappointed and a little hurt, even, when Smith had ignored her upraised hand and given barely a nod of acknowledgement when she completed her assignments perfectly and well ahead of the rest of the class.

Smith frowned.

"I wasn't aware that your ego was in need of buffeting, Miss Granger."

She felt her face flush at the reprimand and looked down at her hands.

"However, you do have a point. I did not mean to… insult you, but, Miss Granger, I rather thought you would be beyond the point of needing compliments for your rather obvious talents and skills."

"I, um, I'm sorry, sir. I spoke out of turn."

"No, please don't apologize. I encouraged you, after all."

Hermione looked up, somewhat dazed, and couldn't help but compare this man to Snape – he would have had her spending the rest of the year with scrubbing the dungeons with a toothbrush by this point, not _apologizing_.

"Shall we forget all about it?" She offered, smilingly gamely.

Smith chuckled and nodded. After a moment his features resumed their customary, rather harsh look. He really did have an interesting face, Hermione mused, and he was very easy to look at.

"…school?"

Damn, he had been asking her a question and she had been caught staring at him like a lovesick school girl. She flushed at the thought, painfully reminded of her infatuation with Gilderoy Lockhart.

"I'm sorry, sir, my mind wandered."

He looked unconvinced but repeated his question.

"I asked, Miss Granger, what your after school plans were?"

"Oh. I… I'm not yet sure."

"Really? I thought you would have at least five plans for your future career, all with contingencies."

She smiled sadly at that. Two years ago she _did_ have five plans, all with contingencies. Now, however, she struggled to come up with one.

"I'm afraid the war encouraged me to focus on the present. It's an adjustment, thinking about the future again."

He nodded, expression somber.

"Indeed. My seventh year was after the fall of Voldemort – the first time – and I remember how difficult it was to realize there _would_ be a future for those of us who had been his targets."

"You were involved in the first war?"

"Only as someone Voldemort wished to entice over to his side."

"Oh." She studied him again. He looked harsh, tense even, but not like a man who had had a particularly dark or difficult life. Nothing like Snape.

"I was encouraged by my peers to make the wisest choice, and so I did. Though it was not easy, with half of my housemates returning from the holidays with the Dark Mark."

"You were in Slytherin?"

"No, of course not. Ravenclaw. The Dark Lord targeted all of the intelligent young witches and wizards that he could – he certainly did not limit his attentions to one group. Even he had the foresight to realize he needed more than power-hungry bloody-purists for his cause to succeed."

Hermione nodded, thoughtful. Half of his house? She knew about a handful of Ravenclaws who had become Death Eaters, but she had never thought there were so many.

"And there you go, off again."

He was smirking at her and Hermione forced herself to concentrate on him and not her mental registry of Dark Wizards.

"Sorry, you've given me a lot to think about."

Smith nodded.

"Allow me to give you one last thing to think about."

She looked up, intrigued and a little apprehensive. Sending her off, half convinced that there was a large, unknown group of Ravenclaw Death Eaters on the loose was really _more_ than she needed to think about already.

"Professor McGonagall tells me that you are one of the brightest students this school has seen in a number of years. In fact, she encouraged that I offer you an apprenticeship in Transfiguration."

"I think four might have been a bit much," Hermione confessed.

"Yes, I agree. However, I would like to offer you something else." He paused and made sure he had her attention. "I realize that your schedule is already full, and what I am about to suggest would certainly be a great time commitment, but… Miss Granger, would you be interested in learning to be an animagus?"

Hermione was momentarily speechless.

"I…I've always wanted to learn to become an animagus," she confessed.

Smith grinned.

"Excellent."

"But, sir, I really do have more than enough commitments to my time as it is. I… I don't think I can manage something else."

Smith tapped his chin, considering.

"What are your plans for the winter break, Miss Granger?"

"Sir?"

"Do you plan to remain at Hogwarts or to spend the holiday with your parents?"

"Oh, I, I will remain at Hogwarts."

"Then, might I suggest we work on your transformation then? Without the distractions of classes and students I am sure you could pick up on the process very quickly."

"I thought it took months, sometimes years, for people to master the transformation."

"If you don't feel you are up to the challenge, then I understand."

Hermione bristled at the implication. She raised her chin and shot him a challenging look.

"Actually, I'm quite sure that I could do it. I would be pleased to accept your offer."

"Excellent. Let me get a few books for you – you don't mind some extra reading, do you ? – so that you will be prepared by the time December arrives."

He stood without waiting for her answer and crossed to the bookshelves that lined one wall of the office. A moment later he returned, several heavy tomes in his hands. Hermione stood and accepted them.

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course. Miss Granger, if you would like, please feel free to stop by next Sunday and we can discuss whatever progress you might have made."

It was clear now that he was baiting her and Hermione smiled at him.

"Of course. Thank you again, sir."

And she left, barely resisting the urge to skip down the hall as she made the long walk back to her dormitory.

* * *

Draco took one look at Blaise and _knew_ that something had happened during his meeting with Viridian. Then Granger sat down with them, grinning from ear to ear, and he just _knew_ that something had happened to her as well. And then Stephan and Eleanor sat down, side by side, and couldn't keep their eyes off each other.

He rolled his eyes in disgust at all of them and was fully prepared to skip dinner and leave when Viridian walked by their table.

"Mr. Zabini."

Blaise turned around instantly, not quite able to smother his excitement.

"Yes, Master Viridian?"

"Detention, every night next week. My office, seven o'clock."

_That_ certainly killed his excitement.

"Yes, sir."

Viridian stalked off and Draco couldn't help but smirk at his best friend's obvious distress. Beside him, Granger nudged him.

"What was that about?"

"Someone pushed a bit too hard," he muttered back to her, having no desire to include Stephan and Eleanor.

She nodded and, to his surprise, let it drop.

"Blaise – what did you do?" Eleanor demanded.

Draco rolled his eyes at her predictability – honestly, the girl seemed to need gossip as much as she needed oxygen.

"What?" Blaise was distracted, but finally looked up when Draco kicked him under the table. "Oh, Viridian and I had a bet – and I lost, so, detention for the next week."

Draco snorted. Lost a bet, indeed.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I would like to have a word with you after dinner."

McGonagall had stopped by their table and Draco looked up at the Headmistress. Her expression was as pinched as ever, but the look in her eyes…

"I have time now," he said.

"It's, well, I have received a few pieces of correspondence for you."

"Very well." Draco held out his hand.

McGonagall sighed and held out three envelopes. Two bore the Ministry seal, and the third the Malfoy family crest. He swallowed against a sudden feeling of doom and took the letters from her hand.

"Perhaps you should open these later, in private." She said, then reached out and patted him on the shoulder. It was an awkward moment, and then she left.

"Surreal," Stephan said. "Did McGonagall just pat you on the back?"

Draco nodded absently and looked at the letters in his hand. He was pretty sure he knew what they said, and McGonagall was right – he definitely needed to open them in private.

"Blaise, mind if I borrow your common room for a few hours?"

"Sure, mate." Blaise caught his eye and it was clear that he had suspicions about the letters as well.

Draco got up and left the table, not bothering to tell Granger to stay away – she was smart enough to have picked up on the hint – and left the great hall as casually as possible.

By the time he reached the Heads dormitories he was shaking, a trickle of sweat trailing down his neck, and the letters in his hand damp.

He drew in a deep breath, muttered the password, and stepped inside. The room was silent, clean, empty. Draco took a seat on the large, rather ornate couch that was situated halfway between the fireplace and the bay windows.

He set aside the letter he was confident came from his mother and opened the smaller of the two ministry letters first, filled with a sort of petty pride when he ripped the seal in half.

_September 14, 2002_

_Department of Prisoner Relations_

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_As the administrator of Azkaban's long-term incarceration ward, it is my duty to inform you of your father, Lucius Malfoy, death yesterday at dawn. Mr. Malfoy was found in his cell, body drained of magical energy and blood. _

_It is currently believed that several of the other inmates banded together to overwhelm the wards on Mr. Malfoy's cell, and that it was an act of retribution for Mr. Malfoy's many crimes._

_The body has been released into the custody of Narcissa Malfoy._

_Sincerely,_

_Anthony Stubbs_

_Administrator, Azkaban Prison_

Draco closed his eyes and forced himself to remain calm. After a moment he opened his eyes and reread the letter. He read it through a third, then forth time before his anger got the better of him and he hurled it into the fire.

He sat on the couch, breathing unsteady, a pain deep inside of him. He fought back all of his emotions and opened the second Ministry letter.

_September 14, 2002_

_Department of Records_

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_This letter is being sent on the day of your father, Lucius Malfoy, death and should serve as proof of your inheritance of all estates, capital, and debts from Lucius Malfoy._

_Your legal representative will be in touch within the next week, to go over any details._

_Enclosed are the titles for each property confiscated by the Ministry, as well as the keys to the Malfoy vaults similarly confiscated._

_All are returned to the Malfoy family forthwith, with the stipulation that an annual ten percent tax on all family assets be paid to the Ministry, as continuing reparations from the war._

_Sincerely, _

_Matilda Baxely_

_Secretary_

Draco set the letter aside, his brain too full to even comprehend it, and opened his mother's letter, careful to keep the seal intact.

_Draco,_

_By now you have no doubt received the Ministry letters informing you of your father's death, as well as your reclaimed inheritance. Those letters were no doubt as devoid of sympathy as my own._

_Draco, your father was murdered, and the Auror who spoke with me yesterday seemed troubled by the manner in which his body was found. He seemed confident that it was no inmate ambush. There is more to his death than the Ministry is willing to reveal._

_I do not need to tell you to be careful, to keep your trust and confidence in others to a minimum. But I must implore you to take all precautions to protect yourself._

_Someone felt that imprisonment was not a suitable punishment for Lucius, and I feel that we may be the next targets of this vigilante._

_The funeral will be held next Saturday. Your father will be buried at the mansion._

_Draco, you are now the last of the Malfoy line. Please think of this as you make your decisions for the future._

_Love,_

_Mother_

Draco was still staring at the letter when, two hours later, Blaise and Granger cautiously entered the room.

"I told you he needed more time," he heard Granger hiss.

"Come off it. You wanted to follow him up here right away."

"But I didn't!"

Their voices sounded miles away, and Draco could not summon the energy to tell them to bugger off. Eventually they walked into his line of sight. Blaise took a seat on the chair opposite the couch, his expression sympathetic.

Granger, on the other hand, apparently had a death wish. She knelt down beside him and put one hand on his knee.

Draco wanted to jerk away from the contact, wanted to yell at her and demand she remove her filthy hands. But when he looked down at her, her eyes were filled with tears. Tears for him – for a man that had insulted her for years and who had been responsible for the pain and deaths of many of her friends.

"Granger," he finally ground out.

"Malfoy, I'm not going anywhere. This is my common room. If I want to sit here all night it's my bloody right. I could sit on your lap if I wanted to. So shut up and accept it."

Draco looked over at Blaise but saw that his friend would offer no help in getting rid of her. So he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, praying that when next he opened his eyes she would be gone – they would all be gone. He prayed that the world be nothing but ashes, that this nightmare that was his future would just end.

Hours later he heard Blaise speak.

"It's after three – I'm going to bed. Granger – whatever, fine. Draco…I'm sorry."

He managed to open his eyes then and watched as his friend retreated from the room. He looked down and saw that Granger was _still there_, her small hand still on his knee, rubbing small, soothing circles.

Merlin, how far he had fallen that on the eve of his father's murder, the only person to offer him comfort was the Muggle-born girl whose life he had made a living hell since the day they first met.

He drew in a deep breath as that thought brought back his father's instructions, that first day of school.

"_Befriend Potter – it is imperative that you become his ally. And, at all costs, remember who you are. Who we are. You have no equal, you are a Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle will be there to… assist you. And to report to me. Do not disappoint your mother and I, Draco. We have high expectations, and you would do well to exceed them."_

"Malfoy. Draco."

He focused on Granger, the use of his first name shocking him out of the reverie.

"What?" He croaked.

"Would you… would you like a hug?"

He scowled, ready to call her every foul thing he could muster, at the very _idea_ that he wanted physical comfort from her.

"I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to ask."

He nodded in agreement, not quite over his anger.

"Of course you need a hug."

And before he knew it, Granger was sitting beside him on the couch, arms held out to him and a look of complete seriousness on her face.

"Granger."

"I swear to God I won't tell anyone, ever, and if Blaise walks out here you can push me away and call me a Mudblood. But your _father_ just died, Malfoy. If there was ever a time to get over yourself and accept some comfort, now would be the time."

He stared at her a moment longer, wondering how she even existed – how she had ever managed to become brave enough to offer this to him. But he gave in and practically collapsed into her lap.

She wrapped one arm around his back and used her other hand to comb through his hair, her short nails scraping his scalp ever so lightly.

It was exactly the gesture his mother had used to lull him into sleep as a young child after his father had delivered one of his punishment cum lessons. He fisted a hand in her skirt, willing himself to stop remembering things like that. To stop remembering anything.

"Draco –"

"For once in your life, Granger, don't talk. Please."

She quieted instantly and went back to combing his hair. After nearly twenty minutes of silence Draco felt confident that he could speak with yelling at her – or crying.

"He was murdered. His body was completely drained of magic. And blood."

To her credit she continued to soothe him, as though he had not just told her such a horrifying fact.

"The ministry gave me back _everything_ – all of our property, our fortune. But they said _nothing_ about investigating his death. To them, he's just one more Death Eater that got his in the end."

"Draco."

"You don't get it, Granger. I'm not sad, I'm not about to go and find his killers and demand justice."

"You… you aren't?"

"No. I'm angry that the bastard died before he could see me become everything he never wanted. I'm bloody _furious_ that someone did him in before I had the chance to. He deserved to die – and he deserved to suffer as much as possible. But not like that. Not before I had the chance to prove to him that I wasn't like him. That I've changed." His grip on her skirt tightened as he allowed himself to feel the emotions he was describing to her – the full depth of his rage surprising even himself.

"I hated him, Granger, and since I was seven, I've gone to bed praying he would die. And now that he's finally gone and obliged me I'm pissed as hell. It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

There was a moment of silence, and then Granger leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Draco, I'm very sorry about your father."

At those few words he started to cry, silent, burning tears.

He swallowed hard, wanting more than ever to yell at her – didn't she understand _anything? – _but then she kissed him again and sat back up. She went back to combing his hair and rubbing his back.

"Stop pitying me, I'm not one of your projects," he muttered furiously against the tight knot of emotion her touch emitted.

"I would never think to pity you, Malfoy. You have the whole world at your disposal – even with your father dead, I know you're going to do everything you can to prove to him, to everyone, how much better you are than him. And I would never think of making you one of my projects. Honestly, the Society for the Pitying and Protection of Draco Malfoy just sounds ridiculous."

He laughed at that, horrified that it sounded like a sob.

"Budge up, will you, your jaw is cutting into my knee cap."

It was a moment before he realized what she was asking him to do. He was incredibly reluctant to move –especially since she would no doubt look at him in the process.

"Granger."

"I'm not going anywhere, I just need to stretch out my legs."

He pulled himself up enough for her to do as she wished and waited for her to pull him back down before he placed his head on her stomach, this time, silently marveling at the warmth of her body as her legs pressed against him.

"Granger."

"I'm not going to tell Blaise you cried, Draco. I'm not going to tell anyone. You need this and I… I can't bear to go back to having to sit with Harry and Ron when I can enjoy a perfectly crafted insult from you, so just… let it out. Please."

And so he did, clinging to her as though she were the only thing he had left in the world, and he cried. Cried for the father whose pride he had never earned, for the family that had been broken from the start and would never heal. And he cried for himself, because tonight, Draco Malfoy had ceased to exist. All that had ever defined him was gone, _murdered_. And he fell asleep, clinging to Hermione Granger, as she sang some Muggle lullaby and held him tightly.

* * *

So that was a happy chapter…. Um, well, yeah. Things SHOULD start to move in the direction we all want after this… and, dear god, who killed Lucius?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks again to my reviewers! I appreciate that you take the time to review the chapters I write, and I appreciate the encouragement.

I guess, since no one complained, that we're all happy with Blaise… so, I guess that I will add SLASH to the warnings for this fic.

Another Chance

Chapter Seven

Hermione blinked awake and became aware of two things simultaneously: Malfoy was asleep on top of her, and Blaise was standing in the doorway of his room, looking at them.

She shot him a quelling look, but that seemed to be his undoing and he doubled over with silent laughter, closing his door a second later as it became too much for him. She could hear his laughter, faintly, on the other side of the door.

The rooms really didn't have any sort of privacy charms, she thought, and made a mental note to fix that when she got an opportunity.

Blaise out of the way, she looked down at the platinum head snuggled against her breasts. Malfoy had shifted in his sleep, so that one of his legs was thrown over the both of hers. She could also feel his morning erection pressing against her leg and she flushed, forced to accept the fact that she had slept all night on a couch with _Draco Malfoy_.

She felt him start to move and braced herself for what was sure to be a verbal attack of enormous magnitude. As subtly as she could she cast a cleansing charm on both herself and Draco – if he was going to yell at her, at least it would be with minty breath.

Sure, enough, an instant later Malfoy was awake and springing away from her. Hermione squashed her instinct to smile at the slightly horrified expression on his face. His hair was in complete disarray and his clothing was rumpled. He looked very young, and very lost. Slowly he turned to face her, and Hermione took in his red-rimmed eyes and fought against her urge to hold him against her again. He reminded her so much of Harry, when he had lost Sirius. She sighed. Children should not have to bury their parents so young. She blinked back sudden tears when she thought of her own parents. Now was not the time for self pity. In ten minutes, after Malfoy had called her every foul thing he could think of - that was the time for self pity.

She arched an eyebrow at him and waited for the explosion.

"Did you clean my teeth?" He asked, face a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Um yes. I didn't want to be yelled at by someone with atrocious morning breath."

"I do _not_ have atrocious morning breath," Malfoy muttered angrily.

"I didn't know that and I wasn't willing to take any chances."

He huffed, still obviously put out by her assumption. There was a moment of tense silence, and then he reached out to her and took one of her hands in his.

"Granger, I appreciate last night."

She blinked, convinced that she had entered an alternate universe.

"Granger?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to work out how that was an insult. It's taking me a minute."

He scowled at her.

"It wasn't. I, damnit Granger, thank you. Alright? Thank you for last night – thank you for that night two weeks ago. Thank you. Happy now?" He was starting to work himself up.

"Um, yeah, you're welcome. I – Malfoy, I want to be your friend. So, I'm here… if you need anything."

He caught her eye and seemed to be searching for something in her expression – some sight of deceit or duplicity, but, finding none, he nodded and leaned back against the couch.

"Well, look who's finally awake."

They both turned to glare at Blaise.

"Perhaps you should head back to your own room, Draco, and get changed before we head down to breakfast. It's just after dawn, everyone should still be asleep."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him and Blaise smirked.

"I won't have you seen leaving my rooms at this hour, I've my reputation to consider, after all."

Malfoy snorted and levered himself up. He looked down at Hermione again and she looked away, unable to bear the sincere expression on his face.

"I'll see you at breakfast, then," he said and left.

"Well… that was interesting."

Hermione turned on him instantly.

"His father just died! I was trying to comfort him! Honestly, Blaise, is everything a joke to you?" She stood up and stalked across the room to glare up at him. "There's nothing interesting about it. When's the last time Draco was hugged by his own mother even? Do you have any idea how hard it was for him to…to let me help? His father was a monster, and he might claim to be glad he's dead – but Lucius was still his father. It still hurts! Can't you save your snide remarks for just one day?"

Blaise looked at her condescendingly.

"Are you finished?"

She crossed her arms.

"Yes."

"Good, because now you get to listen to me. Draco is my best friend – my only friend, for that matter. So I, far more than you could ever dream, understand what he is going through. I spent summers in that house – I know what a foul bastard Lucius was. I know how he treated Draco and Narcissa. And I know, despite all that, that Draco _worshipped_ the man. I know all of that Granger. I've been there. You had a moment of pity and decided to offer your… body to him. Well, bully for you. It was one night, and by this time tomorrow, I'm sure you will be back with your idiot Gryffindor friends, because you're just so _wonderful_ and _kind_ that you'll forgive them the moment Weasley works up the courage to apologize. And then… then it's going to be just Draco and me. Again. So forgive me if I'm not falling all over myself to congratulate you on being the humanitarian of the year. I know you, and I know your kind. You feel bad for him – but you don't actually care about him."

He turned to go back into his room but then stopped himself and stepped towards her.

"And another thing. I'll make snide remarks if I damn well want to. I'm a Slytherin, and so is Draco. We don't wear our damn hearts on our sleeves like you. We can't go around sniveling in the corridors or hugging random strangers. We can't be weak like you. So leave it be. You don't understand, and you have no hope of ever understanding."

Hermione stood there in complete shock as he slammed the door in her face.

Well, she _had_ anticipated getting yelled at this morning – she had just been wrong about who would do the yelling, it seemed.

She drew in a deep breath and knocked on his door.

"What?" He opened it and looked down at her, obviously on the verge of losing control of his emotions.

"Blaise, I'm sorry."

"Oh, you're sorry. Well, that makes it _all_ better. Glad that's behind us."

"I wasn't trying to come between you and Draco, last night."

She could see that her shot hit home, because he stood up straighter and his glare intensified.

"I know he's your best friend. I know that I'm… nothing, really. But I do care about him – I really do. I don't know him very well, but I can tell that he's had a really difficult life, and a really hard time recently. And he's… he doesn't deserve that, no one does."

"So he's just another one of your projects? Going to rescue him from himself?"

"No, Draco's made it quite clear that I can bugger off before he will let me 'fix him.'"

"Then what? Feeling lonely now that Weasley's off to greener pastures and your friends have abandoned you. You can't really think to replace them with Draco."

She raised her chin, having had enough of his attempts to hurt her – especially now that they actually _were_ hurting her.

"Draco could never replace Ron or Harry, and I'm not trying to replace them with _anyone_. They are my best friends, and… damn it, Blaise I'm only trying to be a good person!"

"He doesn't need a _good_ _person_ around, Granger. What do you think is going to happen when Weasley and Potter want you back? Think they're going to open their arms to Draco _Malfoy_ as well? Grow up."

"The war is over! He's not our enemy! I can be friends with whoever I want to!" She stamped her foot, furious to be having this argument again – with Blaise now – and being met with just as much anger and incomprehension as if it was Ron or Harry.

Blaise seemed to be amused by her display and she fought her urge to slap him. Instead, she drew in deep, calming breaths and counted to ten.

"Blaise, I want to help him. I want to be his friend. I want to be _your_ friend. I don't have any ulterior motives – and I'm not just going to throw the two of you away if Ron and Harry want me back. You… you have to realize that I've had more intelligent conversations over the last two weeks with you two than I had all my other years here combined. I know that I'm open and honest… and annoying and interfering. But the two of you are arrogant, self-serving, and way too uptight. So… there. You aren't perfect either."

There was a tense moment of silence between them, and she was sure he was going to slam the door in her face again. But then he smirked and lifted a hand to his heart.

"Why, Miss Granger, I think I've just fallen in love."

She rolled her eyes at him but couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.

"Well, now that we've got that sorted – you should clean yourself up. You look like you spent your night in the arms of, well, Draco Malfoy."

She glared at him and retreated to her own bedroom, relieved that they seemed to be back on good terms. She closed her door and leaned against it heavily.

It had been a busy weekend, she decided, and she wondered just how life could possibly get more complicated.

And then she remembered: Ron. He had been curiously absent from the Great Hall on Sunday during mealtimes, and Hermione had the feeling that today was going to be very, very difficult to be around him. If he followed his usual pattern of stubborn idiocy, she was willing to bet that he would be hanging all over Lavender Brown – making it clear that he had other options, better options.

So Hermione took care when she dressed that morning, making sure her school uniform was clean and well pressed, and made an extra effort with her hair, charming into a semblance of order and leaving her hair, now softly curling, loose. She added lip gloss and judged herself sufficiently put together to face down her new ex-boyfriend and whatever he could throw in her direction.

Blaise was waiting for her in their common room and gave her a once over before chuckling.

"War, is it?"

She gave a haughty shake of her head.

"I just felt like looking presentable today."

"Right. You felt like showing Ron Weasley he's a stupid prat and he's missing out on being with one of the prettiest girls in school."

Hermione flushed at the compliment.

"I'm no Lavender Brown."

"True. Merlin, the amount of turquoise eye shadow that girl uses is criminal." Blaise gave a theatrical shudder. "Shall we?" He held out his arm and she allowed him to escort her.

"Blaise, are all Slytherins as bipolar as you and Malfoy?"

"Of course. As first years, they charm our pillows. We sleep one way, and the pillow compliments us and tells us how lovely we are; we turn over and the pillow tells us what utter, pathetic failures we are. It's quite hard to get used to, of course, but by fourth year most of us are able to sleep through the night, and accept the fact that we will never, ever be happy."

She shook her head, wondering how it was possible for him to maintain such levity. Remembering the argument they had just had, though, she realized that it was Blaise's way of protecting himself. Just as Malfoy used insults and his generally foul temperament to get rid of people and guard himself, so Blaise used his humor to put a distance between himself and others. It was sad, when she thought about it, but she knew that she had done something similar. As a first year, amidst the taunts from all houses about her looks and her heritage, Hermione had drowned herself in school work and had used her studies as an excuse for not being close to anyone. Even now, when she wanted to avoid Harry or Ron, or felt upset with them or herself she escaped to the library. She supposed that everyone had these ways of protecting themselves.

"Would you like me to sweep you off your feet and kiss you in front of everyone?" Blaise offered and Hermione glanced over at her usual table, not in the least surprised to catch Ron and Lavender already fused together by their lips. She straightened her shoulders and held her head high.

"No thank you, I've my reputation to consider, after all. Besides, I'm not about to go getting on Professor Viridian's bad side."

He sent her a quelling look and guided them over to their usual table.

"Little chance of that," he confessed. "I think he's probably going to murder me in detention tonight."

Hermione shook her head.

"I told you it was dangerous."

"Hence the appeal. Morning Eleanor, Stephan."

The two Ravenclaws nodded in acknowledgement of the greeting, but instead of sitting at their table they walked on to sit with a few seventh year Hufflepuffs.

Hermione exchanged a confused look with Blaise, and then caught sight of Draco entering the hall. A hush fell over the students, and Hermione wondered just how fast bad news traveled.

Draco ignored everyone and walked over to their table, taking the open seat beside Hermione, across from Blaise. The hall was still silent.

"Maybe you should roll around on the floor and curse fate for a while," Blaise suggested, then, more thoughtfully, "it's what I would do."

Draco glared at him.

"Good thing I'm not a melodramatic poofer, then," he said this with a blank expression, but even Hermione knew he wasn't actually trying to insult Blaise.

"Why IS everyone staring?" She asked.

Draco arched an eyebrow at her and gestured at himself.

It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't dressed as he ought to be. He was still wearing his school uniform, but his tie, instead of being green and silver, was black, as was his normally gray vest.

"Oh. Are you allowed to do that?"

Blaise sent her a look of complete exasperation.

"Are you seriously questing the rules NOW?"

"Not allowed, exactly. But tolerated."

"I've never noticed anyone dressed like that."

"Because you hang out with a lot of purebloods?"

Hermione frowned at him, but considered the truth in this. There really weren't many purebloods in Gryffindor – and Ron and Ginny hadn't been in school when their brother died. They had worn black for a month or so, she remembered.

"How long? Do you wear black?" She hoped her questions were keeping his mind occupied and his attention away from the literally hundreds of eyes still focused on him. At last, after several minutes, the hall had regained its usual level of noise.

"My mother will wear black until she dies."

"Or remarries," Blaise pointed out.

"Yes, or remarries. I _should_ wear it for three months."

Obviously he had no intentions of doing so, and Hermione wondered if that was a good or bad decision. She really didn't feel remorse over Lucius' death – he was a terrible man and without him the world was certainly a better place. But she wouldn't wish death on anyone.

A moment later the room was filled with owls delivering mail.

Draco received two letters – one from a very officious looking falcon and the other from a school owl. Blaise and Hermione each received _The Daily Prophet_, and they both quickly shoved the paper into their bags after little more than a cursory glance. It appeared that nothing had occurred over the weekend in the entire world _except_ the murder of Lucius Malfoy.

They exchanged scowls and turned back to Draco.

He had one envelope open and was tipping it over. Hermione craned her neck and saw something fall out onto his palm.

Draco closed his hand tightly around the object and his face looked conflicted.

He opened his palm and Hermione could see what appeared to be a signet ring, bearing the Malfoy crest, as well as several carats worth of emeralds and diamonds. It was impressive, to say the least.

Draco was still staring at the ring, seeming to be torn between wanting to put it on and throw it across the room. He scratched absently at his face, and Hermione noticed a small scar along his jaw.

"Well, it isn't going to go away just because you want it to," Blaise said, his voice almost serious.

Draco nodded and after another moment he put the ring on the middle finger of his left hand. Hermione felt a rush of wind and stared in amazement as a pure, gold glow emanated from the ring and surrounded Draco. A moment later it dissipated, leaving Draco looking slightly ruffled and… very healthy looking.

Hermione bit down on the questions that sprung to her mind. There was so much about the wizarding world that she didn't know and couldn't find in books – whatever bit of arcane magic had just occurred was yet another demonstration of her continued ignorance.

Draco opened the second letter, his face turning from bored to angry in a matter of seconds. By the time he put the letter down he was practically shaking with rage.

"What –" Blaise cut her off with a look.

"It's a death threat," Draco said after a moment spent getting himself under control. "From my father's murderer. Apparently, I'm next."

This was greeted with a moment of stunned silence.

"Well, you should probably tuck in, then. Pumpkin juice?" Blaise held out the pitcher and, after a moment, Draco accepted it from him.

"Here's to idiots who think they can mess with Draco Malfoy," Blaise said, and raised his glass.

Lips twisted into a sneer, Draco followed suit. Both boys looked at Hermione.

"Honestly." She raised her own glass and touched it to theirs. Together, they tipped back the juice. Hermione choked on hers.

"Blaise, that isn't pumpkin juice!"

"You're damn right it's not. Draco's father was just murdered and now someone's out to get him. He clearly needs something a bit stronger."

"But – " She thought of all the rules they were breaking, all of the ways this could go horribly wrong and they could be caught. Blaise's look was challenging and even Draco seemed expectant.

She rolled her eyes.

"At least charm it to _look_ like Pumpkin juice. Honestly, even a first year could tell this was fire-whiskey."

"That's my girl," Blaise toasted her with his next glass and Hermione found herself taking another sip as well.

She wondered if there had ever been an instance in Hogwarts history when the Head Boy and Head Girl, along with a Prefect, had gotten drunk over breakfast. She wondered if she could still take the NEWTS after being expelled.

* * *

Draco found it considerably easier to focus on his classes that day than he had expected.

Potions required his constant and complete attention – Boy Wonder was just as likely to off himself as be _useful_, and so Draco once again worked virtually by himself to complete their assignment. He sincerely hoped that Prince was doing something to Potter's grade in the class. Though, at the rate things were going, Potter was going to need a miracle to pass NEWTs.

He spared a glance over his shoulder at Blaise and Granger. Once again they were working companionably, even managing to hold a conversation about Runes while they worked. He tried to imagine he and Potter doing the same and couldn't contain a snort of amusement at that thought.

Potter looked at him oddly.

"You really are a cold bastard, aren't you?" He muttered.

Draco gave him a look of complete scorn.

"Here you are, _laughing_ and your father isn't even dead twenty four hours. Don't you care that he was _murdered_?" Potter looked at him with such loathing that Draco wondered, not for the first time, how Potter was NOT a dark wizard.

"How do you know that I didn't have him murdered, Potter? I got my inheritance back, after all."

Potter's eyes widened and he spun around to the desk behind them.

"You chose this monster over Ron? Are you completely mental?"

Hermione looked up, confused and a little irritated. Blaise's expression mirrored her own, and Draco took the opportunity to push aside the mutilated daisy roots that Potter had prepared and started on a new batch.

"Harry, what are you talking about?"

"You! And Malfoy. I've got eyes Hermione. Ever since Narcissa come to the house you've been soft on him. And you spend more time with him than – than you do in the library."

Granger looked genuinely angry now, but Draco was too caught up in what he had said. His mother had visited Granger – and Potter?

"If you really have eyes then maybe you should start using them to pay attention! Honestly, Harry, Malfoy's been making ALL of the Potions in this class, and that's the only reason you're passing. His father just died – and you're still treating him like – like he's the enemy. Things have changed." All of this was said in a vicious whisper, but they had nevertheless drawn the attention of most of the class, Professor Prince included.

"Miss Granger, I thought I made it clear that you were not to assist Mr. Potter on any of his work in this classroom."

"I'm sorry, Professor." Granger's eyes were still locked on Potter, and she looked ready to kill.

"Detention, both of you."

"Me?" Blaise looked irritated.

"Not you, Mr. Zabini. I understand that you have a prior obligation anyway. No, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter will join me tonight, beginning at seven, until I see fit."

Prince swept off and Granger turned away from them without a word. Eventually Potter turned back to their potion. He noticed the pile of daisy's Draco had pushed off the table and onto his lap.

"What the hell?" Potter brushed them off and glared at Draco, but the blonde just continued to complete their assignment.

The class finished without incident, and Draco, along with Blaise and Granger, headed off to a rather somber lunch and then to History of Magic.

In the middle of the lecture, which Binns happened to be repeating verbatim from last year, Draco pulled out the letter he had received at breakfast and read it again.

_Malfoy,_

_I trust that by now you have word of your father's murder. I doubt that you were given all of the details. His body was drained of blood, and of magic. In the end, he was nothing more than a Squib. All of his pureblood idiocy did him no good. _

_I hope you are enjoying your final year. Hogwarts must seem a trifle dull now that you have had your fortunes reversed._

_Watch your back. Now that I am done with your father I will finish the job and end the Malfoy line. I do hope you will be more a challenge than he was. At least don't beg, as he did. Pathetic man._

The note, of course, was unsigned. Draco ran a finger over the folded parchment and traced the words. The ink was a rich violet in color, and the handwriting bore the traces of a dictation charm. Blaise could have written the note and Draco would not be able to recognize the handwriting with such a charm in place.

He was grateful that his mother had not been threatened outright. It seemed that whoever had killed Lucius bore a grudge against the Malfoy title. Even so, he made a mental note to write her that evening and suggest she leave the country for a while, after the funeral. Now that their fortune was restored, she had the money to do so.

When classes were released for the day he headed down to the Quidditch pitch for practice.

He was nearly an hour early, and was unsuprised to find the locker room empty. He therefore changed at a leisurely pace, enjoying the moments alone. He put his belongings in a locker and warded it. At last he grabbed his broom and took to the sky.

The feel of the wind whipping against his face nearly took his breath away. It was sure there was a storm brewing. Draco looked up at the troubled sky and wondered, briefly, how high he would need to fly in order to reach the clouds. The lightning that even now started to dance across the horizon in a beautiful, deadly pattern.

Draco turned away from the storm and dove towards the pitch, his broom hurtling along at an impossible speed, the ground rushing up, until the last second, when he pulled up and leveled off, so close to the ground that his knees brushed the grass.

Soon the Slytherin team had assembled on the sidelines, waiting for Draco to ask them to take to the sky. He had picked such a young team for a number of reasons, not the least of which being the fact that this young, they were all still afraid of him and still willing to do just as he told them to. They were also a talented group, and he was grateful for that more than their obedience.

He landed and looked over them.

"All of you flew well in try-outs, but you could do better. Tonight we will concentrate on sprinting and turns. Mount your brooms."

He spent the next hour and a half putting them through their paces, and by the end all of them were sweating and looking exhausted. He let them have the locker room to themselves – he understood the need for team camaraderie, and he knew that his presence, even among these Slytherins, was still unwelcome.

It wasn't until nearly six-thirty that he made it to the great hall for dinner, and by that point many students had already come and gone. Granger and Blaise were both still shoveling food into their mouths and he smirked, vastly amused that the Head Boy and Girl each had to serve detention tonight while he… while he started to make a list of possible enemies of his family that had access to Azkaban.

He sighed and sat down beside Granger.

She looked up at him, concern etched on her face, and he was reminded of Potter's slip that morning. He decided to wait to question her on it, however, in light of the fact that she looked ready to burst with questions of her own.

"Yes?" He said after a moment of her staring at him hopefully.

"The ring. What does it do?"

He rolled his eyes. Of course she was interested in the ring.

Draco held his hand out and found himself momentarily struck by the sight of it on his hand. All of his life Lucius had worn the ring, and it looked more than a little out of place now on his own hand. It had shrunk to fit his own finger and had bonded instantly.

"Family heirloom."

"Oh, is that what the diamond M means? I had wondered."

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Was that sarcasm?" He turned to Blaise. "Have you been teaching her sarcasm? I thought we agreed to leave off on that until she learnt subtlety."

Blaise smirked and Granger scowled.

"This ring has been passed down in my family for… seven hundred years now. It indicates my family, as you already pointed out, and my status."

"As?"

"As Lord Malfoy. This ring will get me through the wards on any of the family properties. It also has a… small amount of ancient, protective magic. Additionally, it shows off how filthy rich I am."

She rolled her eyes and seemed about to ask more questions but stopped herself. He wondered if she was trying to be sensitive to his recent loss, or if she really was trying to show restraint.

"Well, have you narrowed down who might want to kill you yet?" Blaise asked.

Draco snorted a laugh and took a sip from his goblet – completely unsurprised to find that it was, yet again, fire whiskey. Blaise really was intent on keeping him mildly drunk all day, it seemed. Draco saw no reason to go against his friend's wishes, so he took another sip before setting the goblet back on the table.

"I have," he announced. "I think it's Megan Jones. Revenge, I'm sure, for breaking her heart."

Blaise nodded sagely.

"She DOES seem the type to murder a potential father in law," he agreed.

Granger looked ready to take them to task, but a glance at her watch forestalled her.

"I've got to go," she said.

"Take another drink, for courage," Blaise recommended, tipping his own goblet back and draining it. He coughed, but otherwise looked remarkably intact for having just downed enough whiskey to knock out a lesser man.

Granger shot him a scathing look and left without touching her goblet again.

"Wish me luck," Blaise said.

"You'll need more than luck," Draco said, amused to see Blaise drain Granger's goblet as well. Blaise really wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, it seemed.

"Merlin, why did I have to open my mouth?" Blaise muttered to himself and then left.

Draco watched him leave and then turned back to his meal, curious to notice that Stephan and Eleanor were sitting with the Hufflepuffs again – had Granger offended Eleanor so much that they had decided to wash their hands of them?

He frowned, considering just how irritating Granger could be. Except she wasn't, not really. When she wasn't trying to show off in class she was practically tolerable. And much quieter. In fact, he was almost tempted to take her up on her offer of friendship.

That was something his father wouldn't have stood for. Friends with the Mudblood. A year ago it would have been impossible, but the war had shown him a lot of things. Chief among them the fact that he had been wrong, dead wrong, about her. Being from the Muggle world certainly didn't hold her back, and she was more powerful than almost all of the pureblood witches he could think of. Blood meant nothing, he had learned, and it had been a difficult lesson. Yet another aspect of his father's bigotry that he had shed. If nothing else, Granger's mere existence proved what an idiot Voldemort had been. A half-blood intent on purging the world of weaklings… he had been brought down by such weaklings, and Draco had seen Granger personally take on Death Eaters during the mass retreat following Voldemort's death. She was incredible, and much, much more powerful than he had thought.

He shook his head and forced thoughts of Granger away. He was positive she was just going through some phase, and would no doubt be back at Potter and Weasley's side within the week. Until then, however, he appreciated her company.

And her body. Waking up this morning had been… interesting. She had certainly grown up, and the feel of her pressed against him had been more than merely comforting. He could admit to himself that he found her attractive, but the self-enlightenment did him little good. Granger was clearly the long-term, picket-fence kind of girl. And even though Draco had just become the last of his line, he had no intentions of settling down with anyone anytime soon. Especially anyone as irritating and bossy as Granger. No matter how good she smelled, or how perfectly warm she was.

"Malfoy."

He looked up to see Ginny Weasley standing in front of him. The girl looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but where she was, and he couldn't help but let her stew for a bit before he finally acknowledged her.

"Weasley." He looked and noticed that her brother, and most of her house, were absent from the hall.

"My condolences on your father's passing."

This Weasley had more reason than most to celebrate his father's death, and he wondered why she was bothering with the pretense. He arched an eyebrow at her and waited.

She sighed and sat down.

"He was evil, your father, but I'm still sorry for YOU."

Draco also doubted the veracity of this statement, but he inclined his head, acknowledging her words.

She rolled her eyes and sat down, taking the seat Blaise had previously occupied.

"Something wrong with your table?" He asked.

"Look, Malfoy, I'm not going to pretend I understand, but… well, they were never going to work out anyway. So… just don't hurt her."

"What are you _talking_ about? Is there some sort of disease spreading through the Gryffindor house? Have you all gone mental?"

"I'm talking about Hermione! About her breaking up with Ron – for you!"

Draco didn't bother to hide his amusement at the idea of that.

"You do realize that Granger and I can't have more than five minutes of pleasant conversation before we start insulting each other. And that I still can't stand her. Or her _friends_."

Weasley blushed, catching his slight against her and Potter.

"But – Harry said –"

"Potter clearly lost what little sense he had when Voldemort died. I have no interest in Granger. Not to mention that she broke up with your brother because he's a prat."

Ginny frowned.

"He isn't. Not entirely. They just… really didn't suit each other."

He agreed with that, but kept it to himself. He wondered when she would leave him alone and considered just getting up to leave her there.

"I'm not interested," he said when it was clear she was ready to keep talking.

She scowled at him.

"You do realize that Harry's not going to talk to her, so long as she keeps this up."

"I'm not her keeper, Weasley. And I've told her to bugger off – she just doesn't listen."

"Must be that irresistible Malfoy charm," Ginny muttered sarcastically.

"Must be," he agreed and then stood. "Thank you for the… warning."

And he left her there, ready to spend the rest of the night in the library, away from irritating Gryffindors and everyone else, for that matter.

* * *

Prince put them to work scrubbing cauldrons, without magic, and Harry started to feel downright nostalgic by the tenth cauldron covered in green sludge.

Hermione had started working on the far end of cauldrons, keeping her distance and ignoring him. Prince, meanwhile, sat at the front of the room and appeared to be grading essays.

Harry could think of any number of things he would rather be doing, but it did not escape his notice that this was the longest he had spent with Hermione since they had returned to school. It seemed that almost as soon as they got off the train, she was hanging about with Malfoy and Zabini. He knew that Narcissa's speech had gotten to her – he knew she had a soft spot for lost causes – but he felt this went beyond that. She had practically abandoned them for the Slytherins, and she seemed to be taking it completely in stride that Ron had gotten back together with Lavender. Ginny didn't bother to hide her disgust over this, and even Harry was irritated that he couldn't have the sense – or taste – to wait a bit before jumping into bed with his stand-by.

He simply didn't understand why Hermione insisted on taking Malfoy's side, or how she could seem so… content to be spending time with him.

It was almost as if the last seven years hadn't happened, as if she hadn't been held prisoner in Malfoy's house and tortured by his aunt. As if he hadn't insulted her from the first day. As if he didn't still treat her like dirt.

It was after ten before Prince left them alone to retrieve another stack of essays, and Harry took his chance to speak to her.

"Hermione, what is going on?"

"We're cleaning cauldrons, in detention," she said without looking up.

"What is your problem?" He demanded.

She looked up now, throwing her rag down and putting her hands on her hips and doing her best to look completely furious.

"My problem is you, Harry! You got me into this with your… insults in class and I don't really want to talk to you!"

"I thought we were friends. I thought we were best friends."

"And I thought you were a decent enough person to give someone a second chance."

"What are you – Malfoy?! You really expect me to just forget everything that's EVER happened?"

"I expected you to grow up. I expected you to be the bigger person. Can't you see that he's changed? I mean – look at us, we're practically friends, and you know that wouldn't have been possible before. He's actually… not that bad once you get used to him."

"Oh, well in that case, let me just get a lobotomy and I'll come sit with you at breakfast tomorrow."

She scowled at him.

"I really don't understand you, Harry. Why can't you move on? I thought you wanted to put the past behind you?"

"Hermione – you want me to be friends with a guy who's been nothing but an arse since the day I met him."

"You don't have to be his friend. I just, Harry, he's been as much a victim as you have."

"What? You mean Voldemort came back from the dead and murdered his Dad? Wow, maybe we are just alike. I should probably go and give him a hug."

"Harry! You are impossible to reason with."

"Guess without you around I've just gone and become my own person."

She glared at him and even from the distance they stood apart he could tell that her breathing was uneven.

"He grew up not knowing any better, and he's learned. He's changed. He's not a good person, but he isn't evil anymore. He's better. I promise."

"I didn't realize you could actually clean cauldrons without magic just by talking," Prince said, coming back into the room and catching the last of their argument.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said and went back to work immediately. Harry shook his head, disgusted with how easily she gave in and just… followed orders.

She was being completely stupid, trying to befriend Malfoy. He just knew that one day soon, the bastard was going to do something to hurt her – and then she would come running back, and be forced to admit that she was wrong.

He comforted himself with this thought as they continued to scrub the cauldrons.

It didn't take away the sting of realizing that she really had abandoned him for the Slytherin, though. Through all the years of their friendship, Hermione had been the steady one who looked out for him, who believed in him, and who stood by him when even Ron turned away. Why was she being so stupid about this? Why couldn't she believe him now – he just KNEW that Malfoy would hurt her.

And as much as he couldn't wait to say _I told you so_, he really, really didn't want her to be hurt.

When the detention ended he left immediately, not interested in rehashing the argument with Hermione again – not when it was so clear she wouldn't budge. He reasoned that she knew where he was, when she wanted to seek him out and admit that she had been wrong. Until then, he washed his hands of the whole thing.

* * *

So, anyone want to know how Blaise's detention went?


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks again to my reviewers! I wish more folks would take the time to review, but I am very grateful to those of you who DO take the time.

And thanks all who added this to their alerts/favorite lists!

And lastly, my apologies: this chapter is SUPER long!

Another Chance

Chapter Eight

Blaise entered Viridian's office with extreme caution. Well, he hoped it was extreme caution. The fire-whiskey had finally caught up with him when he neared the office, and now, as he tried to look casual and sober, he realized that his sins were about to catch up with him.

Viridian was seated at the fire again, and he had removed his teaching robes. He was dressed in a dark brown jumper and gray trousers, looking at once relaxed and harmless. Blaise knew it would be a mistake to think of the man as harmless, and even in the casual attire it was clear that he was a dominant force to be reckoned with.

So he drew a deep breath, closed the office door, and, uninvited, took the seat opposite Viridian. The older man's lips pursed at this, but Blaise knew that if he had waited for permission Viridian was likely to have kept him standing for a very long time.

"Mr. Zabini."

"Master Viridian." He really should stop calling him that – after all, he _was_ a professor. But he could see, especially now, that the title amused Viridian, as well as serving as a reminder that Blaise's intentions with him were anything but scholarly.

"I could be mistaken, but your display yesterday was… not something your previous head of house encouraged from his students."

Blaise fought back a grimace at the mere thought. He had respected Snape a great deal, but, honestly… the man was not a sexual being. He seriously doubted that Snape had had sex with a male or a female ever – it just, wasn't right to think of him in those terms. Snape had made it clear that he valued denial and restraint – he might as well have been an ascetic monk, for all the pleasure he took from life.

"No, sir, you aren't mistaken."

"And yet you felt that I would be receptive to it."

"You're the one who was holding my hand," Blaise said before he could stop himself and cursed his own stupidity. He tried to remember exactly how much fire-whiskey he had consumed over the course of the day. He really had no idea, but it had to have been… a lot. For all the good it was doing him it might as well have been veritaserum.

"That is true. I had thought to scare you off," Viridian confessed, looking slightly exasperated.

"With all due respect, sir, I lived through the war without joining EITHER side, it's going to take a lot more than hand holding to scare me off. Sir."

Viridian was now openly amused, and Blaise wondered if this was a good thing, or the prelude to something very, very bad.

"I'm normally not this blunt, but I want to make sure there is no misunderstanding between us, Mr. Zabini. So, for the moment, put your innuendos aside."

Blaise pretended to put something in his pocket, and Viridian gave a snort of laughter. Blaise couldn't help but grin a little. Viridian, aside from being very dangerous looking, was incredibly handsome when he laughed.

"Very well, sir, I will endeavor to understand whatever you say and not read between the lines. Even though my house pride is crushed at the very thought that this is necessary."

Viridian gave him a quelling look and Blaise bit down on his tongue. For the love of Merlin, he was acting like a love-struck third year. He had to pull himself together before Viridian started getting suspicious.

"How old are you, Mr. Zabini?"

"Eighteen, sir. My birthday was in August."

"You are aware that you are… quite a bit younger than I am."

"Not to imply that you are, well, McGonagall's peer, but yes, I had noticed that you were a bit mature."

Viridian shook his head.

"I am thirty-seven, Blaise. Twenty years older than you."

Blaise tried to look thoughtful, but this was not an earth-shattering revelation.

Viridian sighed.

"What, exactly, do you want from me?"

Blaise blinked in shock.

"We are being blunt, aren't we? Are you really asking for a declaration of intention?"

Viridian just held his gaze, pale eyes intent. When it was clear to him that Blaise wasn't going to give anything away, he stood and crossed to stand in front of the other chair, looming over the younger man.

"I don't have time to play games with school boys just out for cheap thrills, Blaise. If all you want is a quick fuck with an older, experienced man, I suggest you go to the Hogs Head next Saturday."

" And if I don't?" He wasn't sure what Viridian was implying as the alternative, but he admitted to himself disappoint at the lack of games. He _liked_ playing games. And he was obviously still drunk if he was being this ridiculous in his own head.

Viridian leaned down and grasped the arms of the chair, bringing his face inches away from Blaise's own.

"You're in dangerous territory, Blaise. I had thought you were wiser than that."

"Even I am prone to foolish acts," Blaise confessed. He could smell Viridian's aftershave, this close up, and it was nearly as intoxicating as the fire-whiskey.

"Anything we engage in would be more than foolish."

"If I didn't know better, Professor, I'd say you were only concerned about my best interests."

Viridian laughed in appreciation of this remark and he moved even closer. If Blaise moved just an inch closer –

"Have you been _drinking_?" Viridian was suddenly lurching back and Blaise cursed his fate.

"Er… Malfoy's father was murdered," he said.

Viridian clearly didn't think this was a satisfactory explanation.

"So we had a few toasts, to send the old bastard off in the style expected for Lord Malfoy."

This was not winning him anything, Blaise could see, and he kissed his career – and his life – goodbye.

"With fire whiskey?"

"I haven't quite mastered conjuring Clicquot, so it was all I had at hand."

Viridian shook his head, and Blaise could tell that he was amused, despite himself.

"And you're the Head Boy."

"I know, I know. Pathetic that I can't even manage to conjure over-priced champagne. But I'm working on it, I swear." Blaise held up one hand and attempted to look solemn.

"What am I going to do with you?" Viridian asked.

Blaise perked up instantly and tried his best to look ready-for-seduction.

"Lock me in the dungeons and torture me to within an inch of my life?" He suggested, trying to sound earnest.

"I would, only the amount of paper work involved for that sort of punishment is astronomical. I'll just have to think of something else."

Viridian leaned back on his desk and Blaise took that as a sign to leave his chair and cross the room. He came to stand just in front of Viridian, close enough so that their legs touched. Even leaning back, Viridian was still taller by a few inches, and Blaise fought down any sense of intimidation he might feel. After all, it was clear that Viridian was willing to at least share whatever power their might be in their… relationship. And Blaise wasn't about to sacrifice that.

He stepped closer, a little surprised that Viridian widened his stance to accommodate Blaise, so that the student now stood between his legs.

Blaise leaned forward.

"If you need help coming up with ideas, I've got all sorts," he said, leaning even closer.

"I have no doubt of that." Viridian was studying his face, and Blaise hoped that the older man was pleased with what he saw. He had never been involved in such a power-stilted relationship, and just trying to figure out how the other man viewed him was driving him insane.

Viridian reach out and, using his thumb, traced Blaise's jaw.

Blaise held his breath, afraid to say anything lest it be the wrong thing.

The thumb moved up, the rough pad tracing his lips, and Blaise opened his mouth slightly, wondering if Viridian would risk another bite.

The professor smirked. Instead of taking the bait, he leaned in and replaced his thumb with his mouth. At first there was little pressure, just the feel of Viridian's slightly chapped lights pressed against his own, but then Viridian stood to his full height, drawing them closer together. He forced Blaise to angle his head and took advantage of his still parted lips, his tongue dipping in and practically searing Blaise as he took full control of the kiss. Blaise had never felt such intense electricity at the mere feel of another man's tongue, and he fought to take back some of the control, using his own tongue to taste Viridian. To his immense satisfaction Viridian groaned and one of his hands went to Blaise's back, pulling him even closer.

The kiss went on, each fighting the other for the pace and force of the contact, but at last Blaise pulled away, nipping Viridian's lower lip as he did so.

The older man's eyes were half closed with lust, but Blaise could see a twinkle of amusement as well.

"That really isn't a good habit of yours," Viridian commented, absently rubbing at his lip.

"I didn't break the skin – either time. And if you didn't like it, you wouldn't have kissed me."

"Maybe I thought it was the only way to shut you up."

Blaise smirked.

"And here I thought you were the Head of Slytherin. Surely you have more cunning than that."

Viridian arched an eyebrow at the challenge.

"I really don't think you would appreciate the other ways I had in mind."

"Fair enough," Blaise admitted, pleased that they were still pressed against each other and enjoying the feel of another man after nearly a year's abstinence.

"No good can come of this," Viridian muttered, thumb once again tracing over Blaise's face. Blaise allowed himself to lean into the touch.

"I don't think it will drive either of us to become the next Dark Lord, either," Blaise said.

Viridian smirked again, and then instantly sobered.

"No one else, Blaise, while we are together."

Blaise arched an eyebrow, thoroughly confused.

"I'm a jealous man, Zabini, and if we're together – you are mine, no one else's."

"You seriously think I'd be interested in anyone else if I had _you_?"

"What about your friend Malfoy?"

Blaise snorted.

"Aside from the fact that he's already threatened to dismember me should I ever try to cop a feel, I'm fairly certain he's got his eye on the Head Girl. And, again, I'm not interested in anyone else."

Viridian considered this for a moment before nodding again.

"Very well. I believe you have served your detention sufficiently well for this evening."

Viridian dropped his hands and Blaise, reluctantly, stepped back, knowing a dismissal when he heard one.

"I will see you tomorrow night, at seven."

Blaise nodded and turned to leave.

"Zabini, try to be sober tomorrow. It wouldn't do for the Head Boy to be trashed two days running."

"Yes sir." Blaise left the office and didn't bother to kill the grin that was spreading across his face.

It hadn't gone perfectly – but he wasn't dead, and Viridian was very definitely interested in him. Things were looking up.

* * *

On Thursday morning Hermione woke up in a foul mood and was sorely tempted to stay in bed for the entire day. She had been up late the night before comforting a homesick first-first year Gryffindor until quite late, and had then escorted the student back to Gryffindor Tower, only to stop twice on the way there, and another time on the way back, to break up fights and a snogging session. The snogging session had involved Ron and Lavender, and she had been a bit overzealous in reprimanding them – going so far as to remove fifteen points apiece, the limit she could take without further approval.

Ron had promptly turned to Lavender and sneered.

"_I told you she was frigid. Can't even understand human interaction_."

It had been a petty thing to say, and had revealed to Hermione that for all he might deny it, even Ron viewed her Muggle-born status as something to insult her with, when the mood struck him.

Lavender had laughed and guided him away and Ron, after looking over his shoulder to ensure that Hermione was watching, put his hand on her bum.

To say that she was hurt was an understatement, but she was also furious. It was clear that Ron wanted to hurt her just as much as he wanted to enjoy himself with Lavender. She wondered how she could have ever seen herself marrying him one day, and was, not for the first time, immensely grateful that they had broken up.

It was into the morning hours by the time she returned to her room, and she had flopped onto her bed, still fully dressed, and fallen asleep immediately.

Now, four hours later, she dragged herself out of bed and glared at her reflection in the mirror by her desk. She looked a fright – her hair was a disaster and her clothes were rumpled beyond belief. She gathered a fresh change of clothes and headed for her bathroom. She took a long, hot bath but did little more than wash her hair and scrub herself clean. She mostly sat and stared at the water and willed herself to get through the day. After all, she just had today and tomorrow before Saturday – and Saturday she would attend the Metaphysical Transference lecture with her friends and Ron and Lavender would be nowhere near her.

She sighed and wished, once again, that she could have had an easier time fitting in with her peers.

It was nearly breakfast by the time she got out of the bath, and she dressed quickly, ran a comb through her hair, charmed it dry, and pulled it back from her head into a loose, messy bun.

It was not her best look, but it would do. Besides, she had no one but herself to impress, and looks – especially her own – were not her top priority.

When she arrived at their usual table for breakfast she couldn't help but notice that Stephan and Eleanor still weren't sitting with them. She raked her mind for what could possibly be keeping them away, but could come up with no good reason. Sighing, she took her usual seat beside Draco.

The blonde seemed to be doing well, despite a certain reticence and the return of his more biting remarks. He was still no where as vile as he had been in years previous, and Hermione was determined to weather his temper until he… adjusted to the fact that his father was dead. He had every right, she supposed, to be a bit pissed off at the world at the moment. It was clear that the Ministry had no intention of investigating Lucius' murder, and Draco had received another letter at breakfast on Wednesday, describing in great detail the spell that had been used to drain Lucius' body of blood and all the effects it had on a conscious victim. It had not been pleasant, and she was still surprised that he allowed her and Blaise to read it.

"Morning, Hermione," Blaise greeted her.

"Good morning," she said with false cheer.

Draco sent her an amused look, clearly picking up on her bad mood.

"Still alive for the fourth day, Blaise, that's pretty good," she commented. She had no idea what time Blaise had returned from detention last night, but he _was_ alive.

He scowled at her.

"After spending five hours grading first year's essays being alive is a relative term. I honestly think part of my brain died. I swear, we were never that idiotic."

"Speak for yourself," Draco said, "I did most of my worst essays first year- and in defense. Quirrel was a joke and I certainly enjoyed making him look a fool."

Hermione was amused to think of an eleven-year old Draco writing a vitriolic response to one of Quirrel's inane essay topics, and was slightly disappointed that she hadn't thought to do the same. Of course, Draco had no doubt been tutored in magic and magical theory from a very young age – he knew Quirrel was worthless, she however, had nothing to compare him to.

Mail arrived a moment later, and Hermione was more pleasantly shocked to see that she had a letter from Viktor Krum.

She took the letter from his eagle-owl and fed it a piece of bacon before the animal flew off.

She opened the letter.

_My dearest Hermione,_

_Happy birthday. I hope this day finds you well. I have not heard from you in many weeks, but I trust you are doing well at Hogwarts, and are enjoying spending the extra year with your friends. _

_I was very sad that you were unable to visit me in Bulgaria, but I will be in England during the winter season, and I would be very happy to spend time with you._

_I have had several offers from English Quidditch teams, with pay much better than in Bulgaria. I am thinking of moving, and buying a house. Now that the war is over, and the country is again safe, I am thinking of starting a family._

_I found this book in our family library and immediately thought of you. Please enjoy it, and think of me when you read it._

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

She smiled at the letter, even if she was a bit taken aback by his mention of starting a family, and reached for the book still wrapped in plain, brown paper. She opened it carefully and gasped in delight when she saw the title.

_Blood Magiks and Rituals: Transcribed from the Druid Oral Tradition by Windelby Holmes_

She traced the cover and resisted the urge to hug the book. She had long been fascinated by blood magic – yet another topic that the Hogwarts curriculum left out and that a fair amount of the pure-blood students already seemed to understand.

"Is it your birthday or something?" Blaise asked, peering across the table at the very expensive book.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied and packed the book and letter away. The paper she vanished.

"Well, how old have you gotten now?" Blaise asked.

"Quite old, I'm afraid. Nineteen."

He shook his head.

"Don't worry, I know a very good charm for dying gray hairs."

"A charm you've no doubt had ample opportunity to use in your advanced age of eighteen."

He smirked and saluted her with his goblet, then looked at her, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Absolutely not," she said, cutting him off before he could even voice the thought.

"Very well."

"Happy birthday, Granger," Draco said, quite suddenly.

"Um, thank you, Malfoy." She silently wondered if they would ever progress to using first names on a regular basis. She sincerely doubted it.

"No gifts from your parents?"

"Er, they're in Australia still," she said, wondering why he cared and praying he would drop the subject.

"We'll take you out for lunch on Saturday," Blaise said.

"We will?" Draco asked.

"Of course, can't leave her to wander the town on her own. Who knows what trouble she could get herself into."

Draco looked over Hermione, considering Blaise's words.

"Very true. If we turn away for even a second she'll be docking points from Rosemerta for possible building code violations."

"Or threatening to sue if they don't provide proper seating for house-elves,"

"Or –"

"Or she might be arrested by Aurors for murdering the pair of you," Hermione suggested and instantly regretted it as Draco's amusement vanished.

"Well, homicidal urges aside, there's a new place, The Lotus Tavern. We'll take you there."

"Um, thanks, Blaise," she said and let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding when Draco nodded in agreement as well, some of the blankness gone from his face.

"Well, let's away to Defense and see what Viridian's going to do to us today."

This earned amused looks from both Draco and Hermione and Blaise shook his head at them.

"Get your minds out of the gutter," he scolded, "you're the Head Girl and a Prefect – it's criminal to even be _thinking_ about such lewd activities."

"Says you, the Head Boy _engaged_ in the lewd activities," Draco pointed out.

Blaise squared his shoulders.

"Well, I'm supposed to act as a liaison between faculty and students."

Draco winced.

"Don't tell me that you… liaise with McGonagall as well."

"Ew," Hermione said in response to the truly horrifying mental image in her head.

Blaise glared and Draco managed a wry smile. She shook her head at the pair of them and together they made their way up to the second floor and the Defense classroom.

Defense had been surprisingly tame this year: Viridian was without a doubt the best professor they had ever had. His knowledge of the Dark Arts rivaled that of Snape's, but it was very clear that he disavowed the use of most Dark magic, and they had spent the first lesson engaged in a debate on theories behind the intrinsic nature of magic. The class had ended rather somberly, with Viridian concluding that a Wizard held within himself both light and dark, and it was the emotion that charged his actions that gave magic it's power. Yes, there were inherently Dark curses – the Unforgivables came to mind – but for the most part, it was the intent of the Wizard. Viridian had delivered his parting shot directly at Harry: no matter how Good a Wizard imagined himself, one moment of anger could destroy his life and kill those he loved most.

Since that day the class had been a mixture of lecture and practicals: Viridian felt that they had already faced a considerable amount of the more esoteric of the Dark Arts, but he also thought they were shocking unprepared for every day, insidious Dark magic. So they practiced shielding, warding, and tracing.

It was fascinating to learn, and Hermione was grateful that they had a year to learn magic that wasn't geared towards defeating Voldemort.

Before her break-up with Ron, she had actually partnered with Harry for the class practicals, since Viridian let them choose their partners, but on Tuesday, Ron had immediately stepped up to Harry's side and made it clear he was taking her spot. She had spent the lesson partnering with Lavender instead, so furious with Ron and the other girl by the end of class that she cast a shielding charm a bit too enthusiastically, causing Lavender's jinx to bounce off and rebound onto her. Which, of course, had resulted in the really painful moment when Ron rushed to her side and comforted her, while the entire class watched in disgust.

Viridian had actually awarded her points for it, however, for reasons she still didn't understand.

It was therefore with some trepidation that she approached the class today. Blaise and Draco partnered one another, and she had no thoughts of breaking them up, but at the same time, she would rather practice on a wall than with Lavender. Or even with a mirror and curse herself. At least she would get a challenge out of it.

When they entered the room Hermione let out a sigh of relief. It seemed that Viridian had arranged a sort of challenge-course for them. Where their desks were normally arranged, a large door now stood. Behind the door the rest of the room was as usual, but she felt confident that the moment they stepped through the door they would not simply walk out onto the other side.

"Good morning," Viridian greeted them as they stood at the back, warily regarding the door and their professor. He was dressed in his customary dragon skin pants and a loose fitting blue shirt under a dark vest made of some thick, protective material. Hermione could easily see why Blaise was so attracted to the man – he looked dangerous and practically exuded power. And yet… he truly did not seem Dark, and Hermione wondered at that. Viridian, she concluded, did not exist in the world of strict good and bad, black and white. He was in the gray, and definitely towards the dark gray end of things, but by no means was he evil.

"Today we will have a test of sorts. One by one you will step through this doorway. The test will take little time for some of you, and a great deal of time for others."

"What kind of test?" Ron asked and Hermione fought not to roll her eyes. If Viridian wanted them to know he would have _told_ them.

Viridian smirked.

"One that will involve you having to defend yourself. I caution you to be aware of your surroundings, you may use whatever spells you see fit, once you step across the threshold."

"Will we be together?" This was from Neville, and Hermione could tell that he wasn't asking out of fear, but rather out of a desire to plan ahead. She smiled and thought that, even if no one else had, Neville had benefitted from the war. He had come into his own and was truly a wizard of strength and power now. His parents would have been proud.

"No. But you will not be alone."

With these cryptic words, he gestured towards the door and it opened inward, revealing a sliver of red light.

Hermione looked over at Draco and Blaise. The two boys were leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, looking every inch the arrogant, rebellious Slytherins that they were. She smirked in amusement. _Boys_. Draco caught her looking at them and arched an eyebrow at her. She held his gaze for a moment, thinking that, when he wasn't trying to be pretentious, he was actually rather decent looking. She shook her head, forcing her thoughts off of him, and turned back at to the class when Viridian spoke again.

"Any volunteers?"

Blaise snorted.

"I think everyone is this room has learned their lesson when asked to volunteer for something involving the Dark arts," he said. The class, comprised of nearly all of the seventh years, reacted to this comment in various ways. The Slytherins in the class – all eight of them – looked to be in complete agreement with Blaise's comment, while the Ravenclaws looked thoughtful, glancing around the room at the Slytherin's and the Gryffindors. The Gryffindors, meanwhile, found themselves nodding in appreciation to this comment. That amused Hermione – the fact that they were _agreeing_ with Blaise Zabini, Head Boy and Slytherin extraordinaire. The Hufflepuffs, however, just looked mildly confused. Hermione rolled her eyes, wondering how there could really be an entire house that encouraged blind obedience.

Viridian inclined his head to acknowledge this point, but he was smirking as he gestured towards the door.

"Then, as Head Boy, perhaps you would like to show the way for the rest of the class."

Blaise scowled, but pushed away from the wall. He removed his robe, casually conjuring an ornate bronze coat rack and placing the black garment on one of the arms. Just as casually, he put his wand in his trouser pocket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Draco caught Hermione's attention adn rolled his eyes at Blaise's display. She smirked.

Finally, Blaise ran his hands through his hair and grinned.

"Very well, let's see what you've got," he said and stepped forward, wand at the ready.

"Famous last words," Draco muttered. Blaise offered his usual salute and then stepped over the threshold. The class seemed to be holding a collective breath, but when nothing happened, they looked almost…disappointed.

"Next? Miss Granger, care to follow your colleague's example?" Hermione shrugged out of her own robe and made use of Blaise's coat rack. This earned a glare from Ron, but she ignored him and strode forward to the door. She drew her wand and gingerly pushed the door farther open.

Beyond it looked as though there was nothing more than a void of red light. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped into it.

The room she stepped into looked familiar, but she could not immediately place it. In front of her stretched a wide bay of windows, revealing a brilliant blue ocean and a thin strip of beach. On both her left and right there were fresh, white walls, covered with paintings of wild, colorful modern art. Beneath her feet were smooth, brightly polished wooden boards.

Slowly, she turned and gasped.

There was a low, blue couch behind her. And seated on the couch were her parents.

"Mum?"

Her mother blinked, frowned, and looked to her father.

He looked up at Hermione.

"Do we know you?"

"It's me, Hermione. I – I'm your daughter."

He frowned as well.

"Daughter? We don't have a daughter."

"But you do! I am your daughter. I brought you here last summer. I wanted to protect you."

"Protect us. Dear, are you feeling well? You must be lost…er, are you sick?"

Hermione's mother was starting to look alarmed, and reached over and grasped her husband's hand.

"I'm not sick. I'm your daughter!" She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. It was clear that these people had no idea who she was. Determined, she pointed her wand at them.

"Memor Totus!" She shouted. A jet of gold light shot from the end of her wand and sped towards her parents.

Her mother screamed and her father leapt in front of the light, catching it full on. He immediately collapsed to the ground.

"Dad?" He lay there, unmoving.

"What did you do to him?" Her mother cried out and flung herself onto the still body of her husband.

"Rennervate!"

The spell did nothing. Brokenly her mother sobbed and cradled his body to her.

Hermione approached cautiously. She knelt down beside them and reached out, taking one of her father's hands in her own. She found his wrist and held her breath, searching for a pulse.

After two minutes she gave up hoping. There was nothing. He was dead.

"Get away! What are you doing to him now!" Her mother's face was contorted with rage and despair and Hermione sprung away, tears streaming down her own face now.

"I – I – this shouldn't have happened. Something went wrong, something –"

"Murderer! What did we ever do to you?"

Hermione swallowed, but felt her throat constrict and she choked on a sob.

"I'm so sorry. I only wanted –"

Her mother was pulling out a cell phone from her pocket, still clutching her husband, but her tear filled, wary eyes were trained on Hermione as she spoke into the phone.

"Police. Oh, please, help. My husband has been murdered! She – she killed him and she's still here, oh please, hurry!"

Hermione staggered backwards and fell to the ground, disbelief and anguish filling her. What had she just done? What had just happened? How could she have done this. To her father. To her mother.

She sat there, unable to move, completely frozen. And then she heard shouting. Such loud, angry shouts. They sounded familiar, but they were a dim roar in the back of her head while she faced this, her worst fear.

And that's when it hit her. Her worst fear. This wasn't happening – not now, not _again_. She was in Defense class, in Hogwarts. This was just her fear – this was –

_A Boggart._

Hermione drew in a deep breath and rose to her feet. She pointed her wand once again, this time at her mother.

"What are you? Oh god, oh god, oh, Wendell!" Her mother closed her eyes tightly and Hermione cried out.

"_Riddikulus!_" The spell was weak, and the scene changed. Gone was her father's body, but her mother remained, sitting on the floor, looking older and grayer, rocking back and forth, staring at the ground, muttering to herself, over and over again.

"Wendell. Wendell. Wendell."

"His name was Thomas! Riddikulus!" This time the spell carried more strength, but it wasn't enough, and the woman started to cry again.

The shouting in the back of her mind was growing louder, and Hermione tried desperately to find something, anything at all, amusing. Some way that her mother, mourning her father, could produce laughter.

"Riddikulus!" She shouted again, voice half sobbing. Her mother changed slightly. She was now wearing the Reindeer jumper she had worn at Christmas when Hermione was thirteen. But she was still crying.

Hermione fell back to the floor and gave into her despair.

"Miss Granger!" She looked up at the sound of her name.

It was Professor Viridian, standing over her, looking furious.

"I can't – " she hiccoughed, unable to go on, and fell back to crying.

"Get a hold of yourself, Miss Granger!" Viridian glared at the woman on the floor. "You faced Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort! Surely one old woman is easy to defeat!"

"She's my mother!" Hermione cried out.

Viridian stared at her in confusion, but then something in his face changed. He turned away from her and drew his wand and took aim at the Boggart.

Instantly the creature shifted. It became a dark whisp of fabric, and the room changed to a dark cell, cold seeping in through the stones. Hermione shivered and closed her eyes, trying to force the image of her mother from her mind.

"Riddikulus!" Hermione's eyes flashed open at the sound of her professor's voice. The black cloud let out an anguished scream and transformed again, this time against its will, into a trinket. A small, plastic hula-dancer. Viridian gave a forceful laugh, and instantly it vanished.

Hermione stared at the spot where the hula-dancer, and before that, her mother and father, had been. She was still crying, she realized, and fought to gather her composure.

"Miss Granger." Viridian was standing over her again, but this time he was holding out a handkerchief. Hermione took it from him with shaking fingers and used it to dry her eyes. As soon as the fabric came in contact with her face, she felt a cool, refreshing tingle. She looked up at Viridian.

"Soothing charm," he said, as if sensing her confusion. "Please, stand."

Hermione rose to her feet and finished wiping off her face. She stood holding the square of damp linen, unsure of what to do with it.

"Keep it," he said and she nodded, unable to look him in the eye.

"Miss Granger, today's practical was designed to test each student's weaknesses. Some students were forced to battle for their very lives, others were faced with the lure of power and the Dark Arts, and you… you were faced with a mere boggart. I was given to understand that Professor Lupin covered those in your third year. How is it that you were unable to banish it?"

Hermione felt herself perilously close to tears again, and she sniffed.

"I… it was the one part of the class I had trouble with before," she confessed.

Viridian was scowling.

"It is one spell, Miss Granger, and not even a complicated one."

"I – I killed my father. I put a memory charm on my parents and hid them in Australia so that Voldemort wouldn't kill them. After the war I went back to get them. I tried to reverse the memory charm – and my father. My father died! I killed him! In front of my mother. And they didn't know who I was, and I killed him! My own father. I was trying to protect them, and in the end, I killed him! I ruined everything." She starting crying again and Viridian looked genuinely alarmed.

"Miss Granger."

"So I couldn't – I couldn't find anything funny. I, I couldn't think of anything."

Viridian stood staring at her, eventually he sighed and crossed to her. He put his arms on her shoulders and shook her slightly, gaining her attention. She looked up into his pale eyes, expecting to see hatred, or disgust. Not sympathy.

He didn't say anything, just stood there looking down at her, and eventually she was able to stop crying. She pulled out his handkerchief and rubbed at her eyes again, relieved to feel the cool strength of the calming charm against her skin.

She drew in a shaky breath and nodded.

"I'm better now."

Viridian released her and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at one of the walls.

"Finite Incantatem!"

The room dissolved and they were standing in the Defense classroom once again. Hermione looked around, face already turning red as she thought of her entire year looking at her and realizing she had failed. Realizing she had –she pushed the thought from her mind and squared her shoulders.

She was shocked to find the room empty of all students – except for Draco Malfoy. He was leaning against the back wall, as he had been before Hermione stepped into the door, the coat rack at his shoulder, both of their cloaks still on it.

Hermione bit her lip ruthlessly as she felt the urge to cry again.

Draco Malfoy had waited for her.

"Lunch is nearly over," Viridian commented. " If you go now, you will likely be able to run down to the kitchens and still make it to your next class."

Draco retrieved their cloaks and held hers out. She accepted it with shaking fingers and clutched it tightly against her.

"Thanks," she said.

Draco nodded and together, silently, they left the room.

* * *

By Saturday, Granger was still silent. When Draco met her and Blaise in the great hall just before noon, she looked… awful. Even though she had made an effort to look nice – short, Muggle skirt that fit her well and showed off her long, lean legs paired with a black shirt with a low, scooped neckline. Even her hair was presentable, pulled back from her face and tidied up. Her neck looked long and delicate, her collar bones stood out and she looked, more than any other time he had ever seen her, ready to shatter.

She really had not said a word since class Thursday morning. Not to him, not to Blaise. She hadn't answered a single question in any of their classes, and she had eaten little, pushing her food around on her plate listlessly.

Draco was almost fed up with her – she was acting as though Voldemort had just murdered her best friend, not as though she had failed a single assignment in a single class. But he held his tongue and he and Blaise made a concerted effort to keep their banter light. He was willing to cut her some slack, considering what HE had faced in Defense.

As soon as he stepped in the door, fourth after Potter followed Granger, he had been faced with his father, dressed in full Death Eater regalia, and been forced to battle for his very life. It had given him nightmares since, as he recalled the horrible spells he cast and had had cast at him. Eventually he had managed to disarm his father, and the temptation to use the Killing Curse had been immense. He had only just managed to cast a binding charm on the man instead, and had been filled with satisfaction when he vanished.

Viridian had complimented him on a job well done. Draco was unsurprised to see most of his classmates looking the worse for wear. Viridian explained that they had each been forced to face their weaknesses, and he had looked over at Blaise and noticed his friend's unnaturally pale face. He wondered what had happened to him, but reigned in his curiosity. He wasn't a Gryffindor, after all. The thought had prompted him to look for Granger, but he hadn't been able to find her. Viridian dismissed them all a moment later, but he remained behind, gesturing for Blaise to go ahead. He noticed that Potter and Weasley, both looking a little green, were among the first to leave.

"Sir, where is Granger?"

Viridian frowned and gestured to the door.

"Still inside."

"But – it's been more than two hours!"

"I realize that, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco glared at the professor and after a silent staring contest that continued for nearly ten minutes, Viridian turned away and vanished into the door. When he had returned minutes later, followed by a docile, red-eyed Granger, Draco had felt a sense of relief so acute it frightened him.

For the rest of the day she had simply stared ahead of her blankly, and Friday had been no better. Blaise had shared the fact that Granger had returned to their rooms Thursday afternoon and cast the strongest silencing and privacy charms he had ever seen on her room and then locked herself in. Now… faced with the prospect of a truly awful Hogsmeade visit, Draco wondered if he didn't need to take drastic measures.

"Shall we?" Blaise said as he approached.

Draco frowned and looked at Granger.

"You don't have to come. If you'd rather stay, don't let us stop you."

She looked at him and shook her head. He arched an eyebrow and waited.

She cleared her throat.

"No, no, I'd like to come."

"Good, then let's go before all the good tables are taken at the tavern," Blaise said and set off. Draco and Granger followed a few steps behind him, neither matching his exuberant pace.

"You aren't allowed to do that again," Draco told her in his most commanding tone.

She frowned and looked over at him, her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

"Do what?"

"The no talking thing. It's unacceptable. If I wanted the silent treatment I'd go back to my own house. If something's bothering you…" he trailed off as she started to look panicked. "If something's bothering you, then take it out on Blaise, like I do. It's what he's there for, after all."

She smiled a little at this and Draco allowed himself a smirk in return.

"I'm sorry," she said a moment later.

"I don't want your apology, just your oath not to let it happen again. Go ahead – practice a bit and yell at Blaise. It'll feel good."

She glared at him, looking like her old self, and he chuckled.

"Well, Granger, what are we doing today? Lunch and then… I imagine you'll want to go to Zonko's and take notes on all the new merchandise so that you know what to confiscate." Blaise had turned and was walking backwards.

"No thanks. I'd rather… I'd rather just walk and just be outside, away from Hogwarts."

Blaise made a face at that.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then, I'd rather spend my time wasting money on inappropriate objects. Draco, what will it be?"

"Oh, I'll stay with Granger. I've no interest in watching you pick out sex toys to try out with Viridian."

Blaise scowled.

"I won't be. Don't worry."

"Why? What happened?" Granger seemed honestly concerned about the fact that Blaise was NOT being shagged senseless by his professor. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Nothing's happened. Nothing at all. Things went… well on Monday, and then, every night since then he's made me WORK."

"Oh, wow. How dare he? I mean, it's detention, after all. He should be massaging your feet and feeding you chocolates, at the very least." Hermione said and Draco smirked at the flabbergasted expression on Blaise's face.

After a moment the dark haired Slytherin turned around and continued walking.

"I think I liked you better when you were being silent and morbid," he said over his should. "Stop encouraging her, Draco," he added.

"It's not her fault you aren't getting any," Draco said.

"Well, then none of us are. At least I had a shot at it," Blaise groused, slowing his pace so that he now walked with them, just on the other side of Granger.

"Poor Blaise. You know, Neville's awfully lonely too." Granger had a mischievous look on her face and Draco judged her nearly over whatever had happened on Thursday.

"Really?" Blaise actually looked… interested.

"Blaise! Neville Longbottom! Come on, man, I thought you had standards!" Draco admonished him. Granger turned angry eyes on him.

"What's wrong with Neville?" She demanded. "He's become… quite the young man."

Her phrasing sounded so prideful and yet prudish that Draco had to smirk. On her other side Blaise was chuckling.

She turned to glare at him as well.

"Honestly. You'd be lucky to be with someone as strong and honorable as he is."

"Granger, I'm not interested in being with an honorable man," Blaise pointed out.

She sniffed and held her chin high, clearly washing her hands of the both of them.

Draco and Blaise exchanged smirks over her head.

The arrived at the tavern, the building new, fresh, and oddly out of place amongst the older, repaired buildings that made up the rest of Hogsmeade. Draco held the door for his friends, and together they stepped into the dim light.

It wasn't the Hogs Head, but neither was it Madam Puddifoot's: the interior was clean, the walls, floor, and tables all oak. There was sparse décor, but it was tasteful: a few wizarding paintings, all of them landscapes.

"Huh," Blaise said.

"Not bad," Draco agreed.

"It looks… really normal," Granger added.

They found a table at the back, one side a booth seat against the wall, the other side open with two chairs. There was an awkward moment as they all moved towards the booth against the wall, clearly the most defensible seating.

"Ladies first," Draco said eventually, wondering if his upbringing and good manners would actually result in his death.

Granger looked rather grateful and slid into the booth. He and Blaise stared at each other for a moment, and then Blaise sighed and took one of the chairs.

Draco was grateful that he had backed down, and he slid in beside Granger.

A moment later a waiter approached their table.

"Afternoon," he growled. He, at least, looked like he belonged in Hogsmeade. Old, wizened, and graced with more than a few warts, he was far from handsome.

"What can I get you ta drink?" He asked, passing out menus to the three.

"Honey mead, all around," Blaise said promptly.

The waiter scowled and walked off, grumbling under his breath.

"Bizarre," Granger muttered beside him.

Draco found himself nodding in agreement.

"Hmmm. Interesting selection," Blaise said, already browsing the menu.

Draco opened his own and found himself in agreement. He didn't recognize a single thing on the menu.

"Oh, how exciting. It's a Thai restaurant!" Granger looked positively delighted, and he and Blaise shook their heads. Muggle, was what they heard. They had found a Muggle themed restaurant in Hogsmeade.

"As in, food from Thailand?" Draco hazarded.

Granger sent him a withering look, no doubt anticipating sarcasm. She then looked over at Blaise and saw that he was similarly in the dark.

"Oh, wow. You've really never had Thai food?"

They shook their heads.

"That's so sad! There was a wonderful take-out place down the road from my parent's house. We used to order out nearly every Saturday when I was home. It was…" She trailed off, looking despondent once again.

So it was something to do with her parents, Draco guessed, but failed to see how her parents connected to the Defense class failure. Maybe she had had to battle her father as well? That didn't make any sense, though, since he was Muggle. Maybe a Bogart, then… but that was also implausible. Any third year could banish a Boggart.

It was a mystery that he set aside for the moment.

"Alright, oh wise one, what's good?" Blaise asked, clearly sensing her change in attitude and wanting to avoid it.

"Oh, everything. It's all good." She bit her lip, looking rather adorable. "Since it's my birthday, and neither of you know what to get, why don't I order for us?"

Blaise and Draco shared in a silent debate – to trust Granger, or not to trust Granger. Eventually Blaise shrugged.

"Very well. Just don't poison us. I've got a murderer out to get me, after all, and I wouldn't want to disappoint him."

Granger rolled her eyes, but she was grinning and looking happier than she had in days.

Their waiter eventually returned, and Hermione launched into a list of food so long that Draco lost track.

"We'll start off with spring rolls and crab Rangoon," she said, running her finger down the menu as she went. " And then an order of chicken Pad Thai, not too spicy, and an order of the Seafood Pad Pen – that can be a little spicy, and an order of Salmon Panang – make that really, really spicy, and finally an order of Pineapple fried rice." She smiled up at the waiter, teeth brilliantly white even in the dimness of the restaurant.

The waiter scowled and wandered off again.

"How much food IS that?" Blaise asked.

"Enough. You won't be hungry."

"I'm not worried about that," he said. "Planning on packing it up for dinner as well?"

She smirked.

"If you two are like Ron and Harry, I seriously doubt they will be ANYTHING left."

Draco bristled at being compared to those two, and Blaise looked none too happy either.

"I think your old age has damaged your brain if you think we are anything like those two," Draco commented.

"You're boys," she said, exasperated. "Trust me. You'll be scraping your plates clean." She paused. "I hope."

As usual, Granger was right. An hour later Draco was leaning back in the booth, surveying the array of empty dishes. A few were even without their garnishes – Blaise, assuming that Muggles didn't appreciate proper aesthetics, had assumed that the mint sprigs were supposed to be eaten. The food had been strange, spicy, and delicious. Draco idly wondered if he was missing out on an entire array of Muggle food that he might actually enjoyed. He looked over at Granger, content and obviously a little tipsy on all the honey mead they had consumed, and briefly entertained a fantasy of asking her to show him around Muggle London.

"Well, I submit to your superior culinary knowledge," Blaise said. "That was excellent."

Granger smiled.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Oh, I really do want to walk around now. That was a lot."

Draco agreed with her – a walk _would_ be nice after all that food. Blaise, he could tell, was itching to go off on his own, and he wondered if he perhaps had some assignation planned with Viridian. He arched an eyebrow at his friend and, after a moment, Blaise slanted his eyes over to Granger.

Oh. He was going to get her a birthday present. Draco didn't bother to hide his alarm. Was he supposed to get her something as well?

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"I've got it," he said, pulling out his coin purse and throwing down a few galleons on the table, but he was looking at Draco, and he understood that his friend had _him_ covered as well as the meal.

He nodded his thanks.

"Shall we?" Blaise stood and Draco slid out of the booth, allowing Granger to walk out ahead of him. She really did have nice legs, he reflected. She was one of the few seventh year girls that wore her socks at regulation height – covering her knees – and he had never paid her legs much attention because of that. Now… they were rather distracting.

He decided he was a bit tipsy himself and forced himself to look up at the back of her head instead.

"Well, I'll catch you two up later," Blaise said as they stepped back outside.

"Enjoy your frivolous expenditures," Granger said.

"I always do," Blaise remarked and took off down the street, hands in his pockets and whistling just loud enough to be heard.

Granger was still smiling as she looked up at him.

"You don't have to come with me, if you had something else you wanted to do," she said.

It took Draco a moment to realize that she actually _wanted_ him to stay with her, and that knowledge took him aback.

"No," he managed to say. "No, I'd rather walk with you."

"Thanks. I appreciate the company. Snarky and pretentious though it is."

"As do I," Draco said with a smirk. "Bossy and positively Muggle though it is."

She was still smiling and they started to walk down a side street, away from the main, shop lined road. They had walked in silence for quite a while before Granger eventually looked at him again and did the inevitable. She asked him a question.

"Malfoy – Draco."

"Granger – Hermione." He'd never had much opportunity to say her name, and it sounded strange on his lips.

"Do you really want to work at St. Mungo's after your apprenticeship? Now that you have your money back – you don't have to."

Draco frowned as he considered her question. Since his father's murder, and his inheritance had been reclaimed, he had had daily correspondence with his family's solicitor, setting things to right and ensuring that his mother had sufficient funds to travel to Paris and stay there for the foreseeable future. His father's funeral had been yesterday, and even though McGonagall had given him leave to go he had remained at school. He owed his father nothing, and the event had no doubt been a farce as immanent pure-blood families flocked to the service in an attempt to curry favor with the once again powerful Malfoy family.

"Yes, I do," he said eventually. "I'm talented as a brewer, and I've no interest in merely sitting back and allowing my wealth to grow without actually _doing_ anything. I've had enough leisure in my life. I'd like to be… useful." It was very nearly the argument he had used on his mother, that last day of summer. The difference, this time, was that he actually meant it. He had found immense satisfaction in Potions. He was damn good at it, and it was something that he could do and actually contribute to positively. It was… well, it was spitting in his father's face, and Draco knew himself well enough to acknowledge that that was part of the appeal.

"But you also want to be the Head," Granger said with a grin.

"Of course. I'm still a Malfoy. I'm not a peon."

She shook her head in amusement.

"And you? Still intent on locking yourself away with books and spending your life postulating theories on Magical Transference and the time continuum?"

Granger rolled her eyes at his tone.

"Yes, and no. I really don't know what to do. I was sort of just thinking I'd… go with the flow. Wait and see what comes up."

"It's shocking that you don't have your life planned out to the most minute detail."

"I know. But… but that's how it is now." She was starting to sound sad again.

"Look, Granger. I've decided. This friend thing of yours…"

"What?"

"You said something about us being _friends_ or something ridiculous like that."

"Oh. Oh, right."

"Well… fine."

"Um?"

"We'll… be friends."

"Oh, well in that case, you should probably come up to the common room tonight so I can paint your toenails and we can share our secret crushes."

He sneered at her.

"You aren't Lavender Brown," he growled.

She sighed. "You're right. You can come up and we'll debate the integration of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds."

"Over fire-whiskey, since you took to it so well."

She sent him a scathing look.

"I'm not touching that stuff again for a very, very long time. I nearly got into a fight with Harry in the middle of my detention, you know. That stuff is very… liberating."

"Generally," he agreed.

He turned to her, suddenly curious about something.

"You are over Weasley, aren't you?"

She frowned and opened her mouth to answer. But as she looked over at him her eyes grew wide and she pulled out her wand. Draco instantly spun to his side, out of her line of fire, and focused on the direction of her wand.

Standing not ten feet away from them was a Death Eater, silver mask ablaze with green fire, and dark robes swirling in an unnatural wind.

"Confundus!" Draco shouted.

A heartbeat later Granger added a spell of her own.

"Protego Comitis!"

Draco felt the warm shimmer of her shielding charm and was momentarily baffled that she had included him in her charm.

"You can still cast," she said to him, voice a near whisper. He spared a glance at her.

"What?"

"It's a modified shield charm, I came up with it last year. It holds out for most dark magic, but we can still cast through it."

"Genius," Draco muttered. The Death Eater was busy casting wordlessly at them, Draco's Confundus Charm having thrown him for only a minute. Granger's shield shook with the impact of the spells.

"Not much longer," she said. "Once it fails I can cast another – but –"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Conjunctivitus!" He said, more so that she knew what he was doing than any need to verbalize the spell.

The Death Eater narrowly avoided the curse and fired back with one of his own, that Draco recognized all too well.

A jet of red light flashed towards them and Draco felt the shield fail. He flung himself against Granger, sending her to the ground, and sending another curse back at the Death Eater even as the _sectumsempra_ impacted with the house behind them.

Draco's slicing hex, not nearly as vicious as the Death Eaters, glanced off his leg and the Death Eater fell to his knees.

"Expellimamus!" Granger shouted, still underneath him.

The Death Eater rolled to the side and shot another curse at them.

Draco felt Granger's shield charm come back and he allowed himself a breath before casting again.

His freezing charm caught the Death Eater's robe and their opponent was momentarily stiff. Granger took the opening and cast what appeared to be a Shock spell. The Death Eater took it with a barely discernable quiver and started firing off more curses.

Jets of black and red bounced off the shield and Draco and Granger both cast spells of their own.

"Again," Granger said, still under him.

"Crucio!" The Death Eater cast verbally this time, and he heard Granger's sharp intake of breath.

"Petrificus Totalis!" The Death Eater collapsed just as Draco felt the Unforgivable hit him.

He gritted his teeth as the familiar, searing pain flashed through his nerves.

Someone cried out, and he realized that Granger had been hit with the spell too.

And the Death Eater was unconscious… and no one was around them to lift the spell. He tried to lift his wand arm, to at least remove the curse from Granger, but his arm twitched as another wave of pain flashed through him and his want was flung from his grip.

"Ah!" Granger had tears streaming down her face and was twitching so hard that Draco was thrown off of her. He closed his eyes against the pain, forced himself to try to fight it – and opened his eyes a second later to search for his wand.

It was several feet away from him.

"Finite In – Finite Incantatem!" Granger's voice was hoarse, but he felt her spell hit him and gasped for breath. He pulled himself together and reached his wand.

"Finite Incantatem!" He returned the favor and Granger fell still. He crawled back over to her.

"Granger!" Her eyes were close and tales of the Longbottoms, crucio'd into madness, came to his mind.

"Bind him!" She hissed and he spun around, having entirely forgotten their foe.

"Incarcerous!" Thin ropes wrapped around the Death Eater.

"Merlin. Granger, are you – are you okay?" His own voice was shaky and he winced as a tremor ran through his body. He couldn't remember the last time he had been held under cruciatius that long, and he was still reeling from the strength of the curse.

"I'll survive. It was… nowhere near as bad as last time."

She had to be referring to Bellatrix. Draco silently agreed with her – his aunt had been able to cast cruciatius almost as strongly as Voldemort.

"Get up," he said, somehow managing to pull himself to his feet. He held out a hand to her and Granger pulled herself up as well, breathing hard and looking pale.

"What are we going to do with him?" Granger asked, walking over to the body, wand at the ready.

"Take him back to the castle and call the Aurors?" Draco guessed, not really believing that he was saying those words.

Granger looked just as disbelieving as him.

"No need," a voice said from behind them, and they spun, reflexes still shot from the spell, and pointed their wands at the source of the voice.

Viridian, Smith, and Bill Weasley were standing to their left, each man with a wand drawn, surveying the scene in front of them.

"What the hell happened?" Weasley demanded, stepping up to them.

"We were attacked," Granger said. "This… we managed to petrify him," she said, sounding dead tired.

"Someone used an Unforgivable," Smith said, gaze traveling between them. "The wards on Hogsmeade are still in place."

"The other students?" Granger asked. "Was anyone else attacked?"

Draco couldn't believe that she had the sense of mind to think about anyone else at this moment.

"No one else was attacked. All of the other students are being escorted back to Hogwarts," Weasley said.

"The Unforgivable?" Smith prompted.

"Are you implying either of us used it? There's a man dressed as a Death Eater lying on the ground adn we can barely stand and you think one of US cast an Unforgivable?!" Granger sounded righteous and nearly hysterical, and Smith frowned at her.

"Granger, we simply need to ascertain the situation. Are you or Malfoy injured?" Viridian sounded at his most authoritative, and Draco was grateful for his presence.

"We were hit with cruciatius. We were under it for a pretty long time."

"How long?" Weasley asked, stepping closer. They were treating them both as though they were wild animals who might attack them at any moment.

Granger looked over at Draco, exasperated and near the end of her strength.

"Ten… maybe fifteen minutes," Draco said at last.

Weasley's eyes went wide and a muscle in Viridian's jaw twitched.

"Weasley, deal with the prisoner. Smith, go ahead and alert Madam Pomfrey. Granger, Malfoy, can you walk?"

Draco saw Granger waver.

"Of course we can," he answered for them. Granger sent him a panicked look, but he reached out and grabbed her hand, gripping it firmly.

He'd be damned if he let someone carry him back to Hogwarts, but if Granger gave in, he didn't think he had the strength to do this on his own.

She nodded and squeezed his hand back.

"Right. Let's go."

The walk back to the castle was tortuously long. Viridian walked beside them, keeping pace and trying not to look too anxious

At last they made it to the entrance hall, and Viridian spelled the doors open. A crowd of faces was there to greet them and Draco groaned. Of course the entire castle would be there, wondering what had happened.

Granger squeezed his hand again and he looked down at her. She was even paler now and Draco wondered how he was looking.

"Almost there," she muttered between clenched teeth. "Just ignore them."

And they did, the students parting before Viridian as he led them up the main staircase. Blaise stood at the top, and when he caught sight of them his face went white.

"Merlin, Zabini, pull yourself together," Draco muttered as they walked past him.

"Can't let you out of my sight for ten minutes without you getting yourself into trouble, can I?" Blaise joked, but he still looked concerned. More concerned, Draco realized, than he had the night that Draco had been attacked by his own house. They really must look terrible.

"What the hell happened?" He asked, quieter, and fell in step with Draco.

"Death Eater," Granger ground out. Her breathing was labored – just as much as Draco's – and he was grateful when the infirmary came into view.

"Zabini, go tell the students to disperse," Viridian ordered.

"But –"

"You can come back in an hour. They need treatment."

Blaise looked ready to argue, but one last look at Viridian convinced him to do as he was told.

Viridian opened the infirmary doors and they walked into the long hall of hospital beds.

He felt Granger's hand slip from his just as he lost consciousness.

* * *

Well, that was action packed… and more angsty than I intended. I promise things won't always be quite this… um, bad for them.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Wow, lots of reviews that time. Thank you, thank. And over 2000 hits now on the story. Awesome.

Warning: Bit of a lemon in this chapter… won't tell you who it involves, but… prepare yourselves.

Another Chance

Chapter Nine

Hermione felt as if her entire body had been trampled. Every muscle ached, and the effort to blink open her eyes hurt. She groaned, and even that hurt her throat.

It took her a moment to take in her surroundings: she was in the infirmary, lying in one of the hospital beds. To her left was a curtain, sectioning her off from the rest of the room, and to her right… there were two chairs pulled close to the bed. Harry and Ron were in the chairs, staring at her with wide eyes and pale faces.

She managed a small smile.

"Hermione! Thank Merlin you're awake, Pomfrey was ready to call in St. Mungo's." Ron jumped to his feet and reached out for her hand.

"Thank god you're okay," Harry said, quieter, but no less sincere than Ron.

"Ah. Miss Granger. So good to see you awake. You had us scared for a few hours." Madam Pomfrey bustled over, wand out, and began casting diagnostic spells on Hermione.

"How is Draco?" She asked.

Ron and Harry both scowled and she looked away from them, focusing on the medi-witch instead.

"He's awake. He regained consciousness about an hour ago –"

"And he's bloody fine. And he wants to get out of here."

Hermione grinned at the sound of his voice from the other side of the curtain.

"And if he isn't careful I might give him the wrong pain potion and knock him unconscious until Tuesday," Pomfrey said with a smile.

Hermione's eyes went wide. She had never known the witch to be anything but serious. Had Draco really been that much of a pain?

Pomfrey seemed to sense her confusion.

"He's been quite concerned about you," she said. "All of your friends have."

Hermione blinked back tears and looked again at Harry and Ron. They nodded in emphatic agreement.

"Alright. You seem to be doing much better. However, I am keeping you _and_ Mr. Malfoy here for the night. In another two hours I can administer another pain potion, as well as a calming drought. You will no doubt experience after-shocks of pain for the next twenty-four hours. Please call if they became too much, and I will see what I can do." She turned to Harry and Ron. "You may stay for a little while longer, but then you must leave so she can rest."

Ron rolled his eyes as Pomfrey turned away.

"You've been out for hours," he muttered, still clutching her hand.

"I – what time is it?"

"Nearly nine," Harry said. He was still lingering back, still seated in his chair, and Hermione wondered why.

"When Bill told us what happened – Hermione, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I thought you were going to die or – or… I'm sorry." Ron leaned over her and kissed her forehead, then her nose, and then her lips, just as he had done many times before. It usually made Hermione smile, now it only made her sad.

"Oh Ron. I'm fine."

"You were hit with the cruciatius," Harry said. "You could have been driven insane."

"I know. But I wasn't. I'm fine. Draco's fine. The Death Eater's been captured."

Harry snorted, a scowl on his face.

"I'm glad you're fine."

"Harry Potter! How could you wish ill on someone who just defended me against a Death Eater! What will it take for you to get over this irrational hatred?"

"You could have been killed! It's his fault you were even there! That Death Eater was probably after him – and if Draco was so great at defending you then how did YOU get hit with the spell? He woke up before you – he seems to be in a lot better shape. This whole thing could be a set-up."

Hermione was shocked, and even Ron was frowning at this outburst.

"You can't really think that."

"What else am I supposed to think? He's evil, Hermione. This is just another chance for him to punish you for besting him in school!"

Hermione looked over at the curtain, wondering what Draco made of all this.

"Harry. Listen to yourself. Do you really think that Draco engineered –"

"Why are you calling him Draco?!"

"Because we were just attacked by a Death Eater! Because I don't feel like pretending like he doesn't matter! And because we are friends! So I'm going to call him Draco! And if you honestly think that he found some renegade Death Eater and had him curse both of us, just to get to me, you're mental. If Draco wanted to hurt me, he would come up with a MUCH better plan than that, one that didn't involve getting himself injured."

"There's the voice of reason," she heard Draco mutter and couldn't help but smirk.

"Besides, did it not occur to you that this is MY fault?"

"How could this be your fault?" Ron asked, still gripping her hand. He brushed her hair with his free hand. "Hermione – this wasn't your fault. You –"

"I'm one of the students who helped defeat Voldemort, and I'm the smartest witch of my age, AND I'm a Muggleborn. Why _wouldn't_ a renegade Death Eater want to attack me? Draco was just in the wrong place – I was the one that wanted to take a walk. It's _my_ fault that he's even injured."

Harry snorted and shook his head.

"Listen to yourself! You must have been under the curse too long, because you aren't making any sense."

Hermione snapped her mouth shut and glared over at Ron.

"Do you agree with him?" She asked.

Ron's eyes widened and he looked between Harry and Hermione.

"I… I think that you're doing what you always do. You feel responsible for people around you. And – look, I know I've been a git recently. We both have, ignoring you like we've been. And we're sorry. I… I want things to go back to the way they were. Let's just forget everything that's happened."

Hermione frowned at his logic and shook her head.

"No, Ron. We can't just go back. I meant it – I'm friends with Draco. And we were just attacked by a Death Eater. We –"

"It serves you right, keeping his company!" Harry shouted, clearly able to take no more. He jumped to his feet. "You're right. It IS your fault. I told you you would get hurt – but no, you just had to have your way. Well, look where it got you. I hope you enjoy him, Hermione, I really do, because I'm through with you. I can't believe you would chose him over us. He's – he's just a pale, pointy bastard!"

Pomfrey was drawn out of her office by Harry's shouting.

"Mr. Potter! I will not have you terrorizing my patients."

"Fine. I'm leaving anyway." Harry cast one last baleful glare at her and then stormed out of the room.

Hermione fought back tears and looked at Ron. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Hermione –"

"Ron, he's not evil. I promise."

"Hermione –"

"You just have to give him a chance."

"Hermione, you're really going to chose him over us?"

"Why do I have to chose?!"

"Because Harry's right. He's dangerous. Look at what happened to you."

"Ron, how many terrible things have happened to me because I was Harry's friend. Think of everything that happened to you. And we never gave up on him!"

"That's because Harry needed us. That's because Harry was _good_."

Hermione looked at him sadly.

"Ron, please. You said you would give him a chance."

"He almost got you killed."

"No, he didn't! He didn't do anything! He defended us and he lifted the curse from me!"

Ron shook his head.

"I can't do this anymore, Hermione. You're a sucker for lost causes. I… I'm just not enough for you, am I? Here I am, perfectly good bloke – and you want _him_ instead."

"I don't want him instead! I want him too! Why can't I be friends with both of you? This is ridiculous!"

Ron shook his head and got to his feet.

"Hermione. I – I hope you feel better soon." He kissed her forehead, let go of her hand, and left.

She held herself together until he left, but then she started to cry. She felt a sob tear through her body and it triggered a wave of dull pain that caused her to cry out. She rolled onto her side and buried her face in her pillow, willing herself to just disappear.

Nothing, it seemed, ever went the way it should. She simply couldn't understand Ron and Harry's attitudes – she couldn't understand anything, anymore. She was still shocked that a Death Eater had attacked her and Draco in broad daylight. The fact that Ron and Harry found her so easy to toss aside was incredibly painful. And all of the thoughts and memories of her parents that she had locked away had come flooding back after Thursday. And all of her guilt and self-loathing had only intensified. Her life, she concluded, was absolute rubbish. And she was trapped by her mistakes, and there seemed to be no way out – no way to make things better. She let her tears flow freely, not caring that she could be heard, not caring how much it hurt to cry. Not caring about anything anymore.

Pomfrey came over soon after. She rubbed a hand over Hermione's shoulders.

"Oh, my dear. The pain will pass. Here – this potion will help. I know it tastes vile, but I promise, soon you won't feel anything at all."

Hermione swallowed the potion, grimacing at the taste, and laid back down, still sniffling. She heard Pomfrey go through the same process with Draco, and then the witch spoke to both of them.

"I'm going to turn off the lights, now. I've charmed your beds to let me know if you are in terrible pain, or distress. I will be in the office. Now rest, and I promise you will feel much better in the morning. The Headmistress will be down to see you then."

Hermione almost groaned at the thought. Of course McGonagall would want to talk to them. She wondered if the Order would meet – after all, they had committed themselves to vanquishing the forces of evil… she wondered if this Death Eater had been acting on his own, or if he was part of something else. Was this the man who had murdered Draco's father?

"Granger."

Draco's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"What?" She asked, tired and feeling the potion settle in her body, numbing her to sensation and thought.

"Are you cold?"

She frowned.

"Not really."

"It's freezing over here."

It took her a moment, and she realized what he was really saying.

"It's much warmer over here," she said.

"Mind if I…?"

"No, there's plenty of room."

"Excellent."

A moment later Draco came around the curtain, dressed in the same mint green hospital pajamas that Hermione wore herself, wand in hand. He looked very pale in the dim light, but nowhere near as bad as he had looked earlier.

Hermione scooted over on her bed, pulling the blankets back as she moved. She felt the thin mattress dip as Draco sat down and a moment later felt his tall, warm body press against her back. He wrapped his left arm around her and stretched out his other arm above their heads.

She took in a deep breath and then willed herself to relax against him.

"Granger, you really are the strangest girl," he said, his lips warm against her ear. She shivered at the feeling.

"Coming from you, I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment."

She could feel him smirk.

"Why did you chose me?" He asked after a moment of silence.

She swallowed and shook her head slightly.

"I didn't chose you, Draco. I chose myself. I… I won't let them dictate who I can be friends with, and I won't allow myself to follow their prejudice blindly. So, I chose myself. You just happened to be part of the package deal."

"You mean along with Blaise."

"Yes, I suppose. But I really meant the chance to make my own choices… as bad as those might be." She thought about her parents, again, and bit her lip to keep from crying again. Bad enough that he had no doubt heard her before, but she would be damned if she cried while he was holding her.

"I'm not a bad choice," Draco said. "Blaise, yes. But choosing me demonstrates impeccable taste."

She smiled. "I think he would beg to differ."

"He often does."

Another moment of silence stretched between them, and Hermione closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, comforted by the warmth of Draco's body and soothed by the feel of his heartbeat.

"Granger?"

"Hm?"

"You know today wasn't your fault."

"I know."

"I don't think it was Lucius's murderer."

"No, it wasn't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Draco, the letters you've been getting – he wants to kill you. Today, that Death Eater made no attempt to kill you. Well, the sectumsepra might have done you in. But, aside from the cruciatius – nothing was even close."

Draco sighed, tickling the hair near her face.

"I know. I was hoping you had a different idea."

"No. Sorry. I'm the voice of reason, after all."

"Too right you are. Granger, I'm grateful you were there, today."

"I know." He made an exasperated sound and she smiled again.

"Tell me what's been going on with you. It can't be Weasley. Ever since Thursday –"

"I can't talk about it," she said, her throat tight. She felt panic start to spread. If he found out – he would abandon her, just as Harry and Ron had abandoned her. But Draco would have cause to do so – she couldn't tell him. She needed him too much.

"I thought we were friends now," he sounded angry and started to pull away. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back against her.

"We are. I just… I _can't_. You'll hate me and I really, really need someone who doesn't hate me."

"Well, I'm glad that I'm convenient for you." His entire body had tensed and Hermione knew he was on the verge of breaking free from her grip and returning to his own bed.

"Please, Draco. I need _you_ not to hate me. I _need you_. I can't talk about it, I can't think about it anymore or I'll go insane. I just – Please. Please don't make me. Please don't leave." To her immense shame she started to cry again.

"Okay, okay. We don't have to talk about it." Draco pulled her against him tightly. "It's fine. I'm not going anywhere. No more talking. Okay? It's fine. It's fine."

It took a few moments for Hermione to pull herself together.

"I'm sorry. I just –"

"No talking," he reminded her.

She nodded and let out a sigh.

"Good night, Hermione." He whispered into her hair and kissed her neck, just under her ear.

"Good night, Draco."

* * *

Draco woke slowly, feeling incredibly rested and warm. He was floating just on the edge of consciousness, his dreams lost to him but reality still beyond his grasp. He loved this moment and even as a child he had clung to it, knowing that it was his last chance for peace before having to face the day.

He was nestled against something warm and soft and he tried to bury his head deeper into the pillow, but something tickled his nose. He opened his eyes, wary of the light streaming in through the window, and found himself still holding Hermione Granger in his arms. He brushed her hair away from his face and tried to get comfortable again. She must have rolled towards him during the night, she now lay on her back and, just as before, he had one of his legs over hers.

The arm he had wrapped around her was still in her grasp, their hands twined together. He smirked at that and then wondered what he was doing. Sleeping with Granger was dangerous. It might have resulted in the only two decent nights of sleep he had had in years, but that didn't mean he could continue doing it. For one thing, it was getting harder not to appreciate just how wonderfully she fit against him.

Abandoning sleep he propped himself up on one elbow and studied her face. He could see how she had grown out of her plainness as a child. Her lips were wide – too wide for her face, really, but the disproportion of them only seemed to give her a sense of the exotic. Her nose was small and curved and had a smattering of freckles that extended to her cheeks.

He sighed and wondered if maybe the curse had addled his brain – he was fixated on Granger far more than usual, today. And that thought set him off again. He realized that ever since she had called him out in the corridor he had allowed himself to grow perilously fond of her. With each passing day he was thinking of more reasons to like her, and fewer of her traits irritated him.

It was unnerving, and Draco found himself walking a dangerous line. He looked down at Granger, still smiling, her troubles masked and hidden away again. She was far more complicated than he could ever have imagined, and Draco knew that part of his attraction to her was the very self-destruction she currently seemed engaged in. He gave an internal shrug. For all that he seemed to be losing himself to her, Granger seemed as immune to his charms as she had ever been. He knew that nothing would come of it.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco grabbed his wand and spun to face the screech of alarm.

Pomfrey stood in front of him, looking completely scandalized.

"Return to your own bed immediately. The Headmistress is on her way as we speak!" Pomfrey huffed and spun on her heel to stalk off.

"You are such a trouble-maker," Granger mumbled as she rolled closer to him, eyes still closed. Draco found himself smiling down at her and caught himself.

"Says you." He stood and couldn't seem to stop himself from reaching out and brushing Granger's hair out of her face. She smiled sleepily and rolled over to the spot he had slept in. He shook his head, amused by her desire to seek out the warmest spot on the bed.

"You heard Pomfrey, McGonagall's on her way. You might want to pull yourself together."

Granger's eyes opened and she groaned, then reached for her wand, casting a cleansing charm on herself. She gave Draco a considering look and cast it on him as well. He felt the same tingly, minty sensation from the last time she had used the charm on him.

"I do _not_ have atrocious morning breath," he muttered to her and she smirked.

"How do you feel?" She asked him, sitting up and pushing the blankets off. She crossed her legs, and in the oversized pajamas looked like a child.

"Surprisingly good."

Granger nodded. "I read an essay suggesting that physical contact helps with the after-effects of the cruciatius… didn't you, did you mother never…?"

Draco shook his head, not willing to speak about his previous experiences with her. Not when things were almost normal. Almost, since they were in the infirmary after having been attacked by a Death Eater in broad daylight.

"Malfoy –"

"I thought you were calling me Draco these days," he interrupted.

"Yes, I suppose I was. Draco."

For some reason he couldn't quite pinpoint, he enjoyed the way she said his name. It nearly like something between a sigh of exasperation and a pleasurable purr.

"Ah, I see the two of you are awake. And looking remarkably healthy."

McGonagall had arrived. She gestured towards the chairs still by Granger's bed.

"Please, take a seat."

Draco ignored the gesture and sat back down on the bed, beside Granger. McGonagall looked as though her Victorian sensibilities had just been shocked to the core.

"The Aurors have identified your assailant as Thorfinn Rowle, and he is currently being transported to Azkaban. Is the name familiar to you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco masked his surprise. He remembered Rowle. The large blonde man had visited the manor often once Voldemort took up residence. He had made it a hobby to torture the house-elves. He slanted a glance at Granger, wondering if she would have been tempted to cast a nasty hex at the man if she had known.

"Yes," he finally said.

"And? Did he say why he attacked us?" Granger was looking alert, and Draco could practically see her brain working overtime.

"No. Curiously, Mr. Rowle seemed to be under the effect of a very strong memory charm. His last memory was of attacking Hogwarts, more than a year ago."

Draco didn't bother to hide his surprise at that.

"He thought Voldemort was still alive? But, then why would he attack Draco?" Granger sent him an apologetic look at the implication and he inclined his head.

"An excellent question." McGonagall turned to Draco.

"I have no idea," he said, irritated.

"There must be something, Mr. Malfoy, from your past that would provoke Mr. Rowle –"

"If he thought Voldemort was still alive, he really might have been attacking me, Professor," Granger interrupted. He could tell that she was just as irritated as he was by this point.

McGonagall frowned.

"Miss Granger –"

"It makes no sense for Rowle to attack Malfoy. Are you sure he didn't say anything?"

McGonagall shook her head.

"No. As soon as he learned that Voldemort had been defeated he refused to say another word. The Aurors administered Veritaserum, but there weren't many questions to ask."

"Did you ask if he murdered my father?" Draco demanded, clenching his hands to his sides. He had a strong feeling that Rowle hadn't, but if the Aurors hadn't even bothered to check…

"I… do not know if that question was put to the prisoner."

"Are you mad? I was attacked in Hogsmeade not even a week after my father's murder, and no one thought there might be a connection?"

"Mr. Malfoy, do not take that tone of voice!"

"It's my life at stake! Mine and Granger's! Was he part of a group? Did he admit to having any accomplices?"

"You said you were attacked by only one man," McGonagall pointed out. "I do not have a full transcript of the interview." She drew a deep breath. "The man is now in prison. If he was your father's murderer, you can rest assured that he is locked away. However, the Ministry is convinced that your father was murdered by other inmates at the prison – so, either way, you should feel safer."

Draco could have strangled her. Only Granger's small hand grabbing his wrist kept him from acting rashly. He forced himself to steady his breathing.

"Lunch is currently being served," McGonagall had resumed her non-nonesense, brisk tone. "Professor Prince asked me to convey a message. You will not be meeting for your apprenticeship today. He feels that a day of rest would do you both some good. I tend to agree." She turned her gaze to Granger.

"Miss Granger, I would like to meet with you tomorrow evening in my office after dinner."

"Of course," Granger said. Her hand was still wrapped around Draco's wrist and he could see McGonagall was disturbed by it. He turned his hand so that he was gripping hers in return.

McGonagall didn't bother to hide her distaste.

"I am pleased that neither of you came to lasting harm. Good day." And she was gone, sweeping off in a tartan blur.

"She really hates you," Granger said.

"No, actually, she secretly fancies me. This is her way of hiding it."

Granger snorted and started to pull her hand away. Draco refused to release her.

"Granger – it's not just Potter, Weasley, and McGonagall. The whole of Britain is against my family." She frowned and he could see that she thought he was melodramatic. "I'm saying that I need your help. We both know Rowle didn't murder my father – and the Ministry is being damned idiotic about this whole thing. I'm half convinced _they_ want me dead."

"Your money would revert back to them," Granger mused.

"Thanks. Very comforting. I've started compiling a list of Death Eaters who evaded capture, but none of them has a clear motive for wanting my father and I dead."

"Draco, how many Death Eaters were there?"

He was about to answer, but Pomfrey came back out from her office. She scowled to see Draco still on Granger's bed.

"I thought you wanted to be gone from here, Mr. Malfoy."

"You didn't say we'd been released," he groused.

"Well, I have now." Her face softened. "If either of you feels any more tremors, don't hesitate to come and see me."

Granger finally pulled her hand free and reached for her wand. With a well aimed _swish_ she transfigured her hospital pajamas into a pair of loose, Muggle jeans and a t-shirt. She arched an eyebrow at him in challenge.

He smirked back at her and transfigured his own clothes into a pair of khakis and a green jumper.

"Khakis?"

"Very en vogue with the Parisian wizards," he assured her.

She smiled at that and pulled her hair back, wrapping it into some sort of knot.

"Shall we go to lunch?"

"No," Draco said, but stood up from the bed.

She gave him a questioning look.

"I've found it best to wait a day or so before I eat, after being cursed. It's hard to keep anything down."

Her face softened and she bit her lip, obviously at a loss.

"Oh. Um…I've got a paper I need to write for Runes," she said, still looking at him.

"Want some company?" He guessed and she looked relieved.

"Yes, do you want to work in the library or my common room?"

If they went to the library they would no doubt quickly come under scrutiny from their fellow students. If they went to her common room, however, Draco would have nothing to distract himself from Granger.

He shrugged.

"Might as well take advantage of your common room. I'll gather a few things and meet you."

Granger nodded and they went their separate ways.

Draco found the Slytherin common room empty, it was lunch, after all, and he made his way to his room and quickly packed a few books, parchment, ink, and quills into his black, leather satchel. He caught sight of himself in the mirror near his door and took a moment to straighten his hair. He scowled at himself as he realized he was making an effort for Granger.

He made his way up to the Heads dormitory without incident and delivered the password, "Nietzsche" to the portrait of a centaur that guarded the door.

Granger was seated on the floor in front of the couch, her work spread out on the table and floor around her. She looked up and offered him a quick smile before returning to her work.

Draco shook his head.

"When do you stop?"

"Sorry?" She looked up, brows furrowed.

"I said, when do you stop? Is there some imaginary point in the future when you get to actually relax and… not devote your life to doing everything perfectly."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life working? Or is there some point that you'll allow yourself to kick back?"

Draco crossed the room and sat down on the couch behind her, stretching his legs out and leaving his satchel on the ground.

"I know how to have fun," she argued.

"I don't doubt it. Well, I do doubt it. But when are you going to?"

"It's important that I do well this last year. I've got NEWTs –"

"And three apprenticeships. What the hell is that about, anyway?"

"It's about being the best."

"Granger – two apprenticeships makes you the best. Hell, one apprenticeship makes you the best if you do it well. But look at you, how many hours do you even get to sleep each night?"

"I don't sleep well anyway. I might as well be productive."

Draco rolled his eyes at that.

"You might as well get over it. Three apprenticeships don't matter – no one will care that you have three masteries and the highest NEWT scores in a century. When you leave here – when you actually have to go out and make rules for yourself, when you have to live for yourself and can't measure your life in assignments and essays – what will you do then?"

Granger scowled.

"What's your problem? Ten minutes ago you were fine – now –"

"Now the pain potion must have worn off, because you irritate the hell out of me, Granger. Just look at you – you have a life-threatening experience and you _study_."

"Well what should I be doing? You've got all the experience in this sort of thing – how should I throw my life away?"

Draco looked at her and her face gradually grew red.

"Oh God, I can't believe I just said that. Draco –"

"No, by all means, let it out. Continue."

She looked away.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Draco snorted.

"Right. Just go back to your books." He sighed and leaned his head back against the arm of the couch. "One of these days, Granger, you're going to realize you've got nothing left to look forward to. While everyone else is off living their lives… you'll be squirreled away, writing reports. Probably keeping a diary and feeding a dozen cats."

"What is your problem? If you don't want to work, then go away! If you want to fight with someone, go find one of your housemates – they're always spoiling for the chance to take you down."

"I don't want to fight with them. I'd rather fight with you."

"You are such an asshole. What's wrong with me wanting to get perfect grades? What's wrong with me prioritizing my life? When I'm done here – when I've finished my apprenticeships – I'll be able to do whatever I want."

"And what the hell do you want? You can't spend the rest of your life studying."

"I don't want to! I just need to find out –" she caught herself and drew in a deep breath. He watched, fascinated, as she repeated the process. "Fine. You win." She started slamming her books closed, shoving parchment between pages and shoving everything under the table. "Fine. There. What the hell do you want to do instead of study? And making my life miserable is not an option." She glared at him and he grinned back.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a deck of cards.

"Care to play a few rounds of Exploding Snap?"

* * *

Blaise arrived at the infirmary just after lunch, only to be told by Pomfrey that her patients had already been dismissed. He decided to check his common room – but halfway there he had to stop and break up a fight between two fifth year Gryffindors. A corridor later he saw Terry Boot and stopped to discuss their Charms project. And then he had the grave misfortune of catching Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown trying to inhale each other. He took off house points and gave them both a severe dressing down, inordinately pleased when Lavender actually started to cry.

Finally he found the stairs that led to the fourth floor, and then Professor Viridian found him.

"Zabini."

"Master Viridian."

"I won't be able to make our meeting for tea. Are you available now?"

Blaise had actually forgotten about the meeting. He had been so intent on checking up on Draco and Granger that everything else had slipped his mind.

"I – of course, sir." He reasoned with himself that Pomfrey wouldn't have released them if they weren't healthy – and even Draco wasn't unlucky enough to get attacked twice in as many days. They would survive a few more hours before he found them and chewed them out for giving him the scare of his life.

Blaise followed Viridian back downstairs, still thinking about yesterday. During the war he had seen Draco is terrible shape – Lucius had no qualms about abusing his son even when they were housing a guest. Blaise had even seen Draco near death only a few weeks ago, but when the rumors of a Death Eater attack and Unforgivables had started circulating among the students led back to the castle he had been sure that Draco had finally met his end.

Viridian gestured for Blaise to take his customary seat by the fire and sat down opposite him.

"Malfoy seems to be recovered," Viridian said.

Blaise nodded.

"And Granger. Pomfrey said there would be no lasting damage."

"Malfoy seems to be having a run of poor luck," Viridian mused.

"Malfoy's _life_ is a run of poor luck," Blaise muttered.

Viridian arched an eyebrow at that.

"Envy him for his wealth, but he's earned it by managing to survive the last eighteen years as decent as he is."

"Hm. You seem to be in a…combative mood today."

"My best friend and my roommate were attacked by a Death Eater – and the school seems to be behaving as though it's business as usual, I think I'm allowed to feel a bit combative."

"The Headmistress has to treat things this way – if she allows even a moment of panic to set in, parents will be pulling children out of Hogwarts faster than we can count."

Blaise could see the truth in that, but it didn't mean that he wasn't angry with it. With McGonagall.

"Your loyalty does you credit," Viridian commented. "It isn't a trait many of your peers seem to have learned.

"Most of them have been taught the error of being loyal."

"Hm. What happened on Thursday?"

Blaise looked up and met Viridian's eyes for the first time. He swallowed hard.

"Don't you know?"

"I know that you failed, but I do not know what you faced."

Blaise let out a shaky breath. He had hoped he could put that lesson behind him. He hadn't been able to sleep at all on Thursday night, instead he had sat up and thought over the class and tried to reason with himself.

"I faced Draco, actually." He forced himself to keep contact with Viridian's eyes. Forced himself not to see Draco's face.

Viridian sat, silent and patient.

"I defeated him. I used the Killing Curse."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't let me join Voldemort." Blaise smiled tightly. "Ironic. I killed Draco so that I could join the Death Eaters."

"Why?"

"Stop with the damn Socratic questions." Blaise ran a hand through his hair, not caring how disordered he looked.

"I don't know why I wanted to join them. The whole scenario was bizarre – I simply felt this overwhelming desire to kill, to hurt. And he got in the way." Blaise closed his eyes and he could see the jet of green light headed for Draco. The look of fury on his face – melting into resignation just as he blinked for the last time.

"What the hell was the purpose of that class anyway? Granger's practically a zombie after it – and the rest of our year isn't much better off."

"A hunch of mine. Blaise, are you familiar with post-traumatic stress syndrome?"

"No."

Viridian nodded and leaned forward in his chair.

"Last year, every seventh year was involved in that war. Even you, who didn't chose sides. I know you fought in the final battle – I read the reports. You saved some twenty students from Death Eaters and killed the Carrows. After McGonagall had neutralized them."

Blaise kept his face carefully blank. He knew that someone would eventually find out about that – McGonagall had come back later and found their bodies, still suspended as she had left them, lifeless. She had sought him out immediately, and for once, Blaise didn't even think about lying. He admitting to killing them, and McGonagall had simply walked away. He had expected to be sent to Azkaban – expelled – something. He had not been expecting her to make him Head Boy.

"All of you are carrying around similar burdens, and none of you have actually had the chance to face these traumas and move on."

Blaise frowned.

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

"You have to face your fears to overcome them, similarly, you must face the past in order to conquer it and move on to the future."

"With all due respect, you're starting to sound like –"

"Blaise, stop being flippant. I fought in the first war, and I've been battling Dark Wizards ever since. I know what happened. And I know that you sleep with your wand in your hand, and you wake up in the middle of the night screaming because you can see their faces." Viridian's gaze was so intent that Blaise wondered if he was using Legilimenency on him.

"The nightmares won't go away just because you ignore them."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" Blaise hissed, gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

"Face it. That's what the class was about on Thursday. It was a start – a chance for all of you to realize that the war is over, but all of you are still suffering."

"That doesn't help – it just makes it worse. And it still doesn't explain why I killed Draco!" Blaise pushed himself out of the chair and started pacing, feeling his gut churn with anger. "It never ends, does it? No matter what – all of us are broken."

Viridian stood and stopped him by grabbing his shoulders.

"Blaise. What was the first thing we discussed?"

"Me wanting to jump your bones?"

"In class, Zabini. Focus."

"Intent. Same thing, really – I want to jump your bones."

"What makes magic Dark?"

"Fear. Anger." Blaise suddenly got it and he nodded. "Right. I see it now. The whole point of that class was to experience those emotions and see whether or not we would act on them. Whether or not we were Dark."

"It was one test, Blaise, don't go tattooing yourself just yet."

Blaise scowled.

"I resent the implication that I would be so unoriginal as to recycle Voldemort's practices." He lifted his chin. "_When_ I become the next Dark Lord I will have my followers dress entirely in dragon skin." He arched an eyebrow and looked over Viridian's attire. "Careful, you're already half-way there."

Viridian shook his head in amusement.

"Your entire year is practically handicapped by their fear and anger. You weren't the only one who made a poor choice. I was… surprised, actually, that only a handful of students made the right decisions."

"Potter and Weasley –" Viridian shook his head. "I always knew those bastards weren't as golden as McGonagall thought they were. So what now, you've got sixty seventh year students ready to embrace the Dark Arts and they don't even know it. What happens now?"

"Now I start to teach you. I know what I'm facing now, and I've got a better idea about how to fix things."

Blaise noticed that Viridian was still clutching his shoulders. He decided to risk another week of detention and stepped closer. Viridian had a good four inches on Blaise, but this close up the difference in their height wasn't as impressive. Blaise put one hand on the back of Viridian's neck and pulled the other man against him. After a moment's hesitation, Viridian angled his head downwards, brushing his lips over Blaise's.

"Not afraid I'll ensnare you in my Dark schemes?" Blaise whispered. Viridian smiled.

"I think I can handle myself. Careful, though, or you might find yourself walking the path of redemption."

"That's not likely," Blaise responded, capturing Viridian's lower lip in his teeth. He tugged gently and Viridian's eyes slid shut. The older man shifted his arms from Blaise's shoulders to his back, his grip tightening.

Blaise felt the same searing fire as before as Viridian kissed him, and he wondered if maybe he wasn't already falling prey to the Dark. Nothing he had ever done felt this good – or this wicked.

He pushed Viridian's vest aside, pleased when the other man dropped his arms away and allowed Blaise to push the garment off. A moment later Blaise was unbuttoning his shirt, a sudden, desperate urge to feel his skin racing through him. Again, Viridian allowed it, standing still even as he fought to control Blaise's mouth. Blaise tore free as he removed the shirt and stepped back to look him over.

Viridian's skin was tanned to a shade similar to Blaise's, and his chest was liberally covered in dark hair. He was lean, but well muscled, and Blaise felt his mouth go dry as stared in admiration.

Viridian's eyes had that same half-lidded look and Blaise smirked.

It was a mistake. Viridian reached out and grabbed Blaise, kissing him again so forcefully it was hard to breathe, and ripping off Blaise's own shirt as he did. Viridian backed Blaise towards his desk, and just as he felt the edge press against his back, Viridian shoved him over. Blaise landed with a thump and was forced to admit to himself that Viridian now had the upper hand.

The professor flicked his fingers, and Blaise felt his arms jerk outwards and freeze.

"A binding charm? I assure you, that isn't necessary."

Viridian smirked and stepped forward. He reached out and grasped Blaise's hips while keeping his eyes locked with the younger man's.

"Blaise, do you know what your problem really is?"

"Enlighten me," Blaise said. Viridian's hands moved from his hips to the zip of Blaise's trousers. Blaise jerked up towards him.

"Discipline. You're too used to getting exactly what you want, and not what you _need_. Viridian ran one hand up Blaise's chest while the other worked to pull of his trousers. Blaise groaned as Viridian's hand came into contact with his erection and he pushed against him. Viridian instantly moved his hand away, yanking viciously at the legs of the trousers until they were pulled down to hang off on Blaise's right ankle, leaving the student in only his boxers and open shirt. Viridian grasped Blaise's left nipple and squeezed, earning a hiss.

"And do you know what you need, Blaise?"

Viridian jerked his boxers off and Blaise was completely exposed to his professor.

"No, sir."

"You need a _firm hand_, Blaise." Viridian wrapped one hand around his erection, his grip just on the verge of being painful, and gave one long stroke. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes!" Blaise felt a rush of embarrassment at how easily he was being controlled. But it felt too good for him to fight it.

"Tell me, Blaise. Tell me how good it is." Viridian's voice was a harsh command, even as he worked his hand along Blaise's length.

Blaise didn't think he could form coherent words by this point. He watched, transfixed, as Viridian licked the finger of one hand.

"Zabini. _Tell me_."

Viridian ran the finger over his scrotum and then down to his anus, tracing over the tight hole. Blaise groaned.

"Zabini – "

"It's fucking amazing!" He ground out, he could feel his orgasm close at hand.

"Language, Zabini!" Viridian thrust his finger inside of Blaise and the boy cried out and bucked upwards, the contact on his erection and now inside of him electrifying.

"Professor Viridian?"

For an instant they both froze at the sound of the voice on the other side of the locked door. And then Viridian smirked and added another finger to his first, pumping them inside of Blaise even as he continued to jerk him off.

"What are you doing?" Blaise gasped.

"My office hours are over," Viridian called out, gaze still locked on Blaise.

"Zabini, listen very carefully," he lowered his voice. "You are going to come, and if you say anything at all, I'll take fifty points from Slytherin and you'll be grading first year papers for the rest of the year." Viridian pumped him again and Blaise gritted his teeth in an effort to remain silent.

"Come for me, and stay silent – and next time I'll let you tie me up." There was a challenge in Viridian's eyes.

Blaise loved a challenge.

"But, Professor – I had a question about our assignment for tomorrow!"

"Now, Zabini," Viridian growled, angling his fingers to hit Blaise's prostate. "Come for me now."

Blaise did, biting down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood, ejaculating all over himself and Viridian's hand.

Viridian smirked down at him.

"Well done, Blaise." He leaned over and gave the student one last, searing kiss.

"Sir? Professor Viridian? It's really important. I –"

Viridian released Blaise and the he slid off the desk, breathing hard.

"Merlin, that was amazing," Blaise muttered. He searched for his wand – it had gone flying when Viridian jerked off his trousers – and cast a cleansing charm on himself before pulling his clothes back on. Viridian watched him, amused, and returned his own clothing to its normal state.

Blaise ran a hand through his hair and Viridian opened the door to his office, still smirking.

"Professor – oh." It was one of the younger students, not anyone Blaise recognized. The girl looked between them. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize you were with anyone. I –"

"Zabini, try not to let the second years get into too much trouble next Hogsmeade visit." Viridian spoke as if the girl didn't even exist.

"Of course. Thank you, sir." And Blaise spun on his heel and beat a quick retreat.

He had to break up yet another fight on his way to his dormitory, but even that minor annoyance couldn't wipe the smirk from his face as he thought over what had just happened.

He stepped inside his common room and, not surprisingly, found Draco and Granger. They were sitting on the floor, on either side of the coffee table.

"There he is… we thought Viridian might have been torturing you somewhere," Draco remarked. Blaise fought to keep his face calm.

"If only. What did you two do to Pomfrey? She looked ready to scream when I said your names."

Draco smirked and Granger flushed.

"Nevermind, I'm not sure I want to know."

"Well, Granger read this fascinating study on the healing properties of physical contact. So –"

"Really. I'm done."

"-we decided to give it a try. Of course, she insisted we remove our clothes –"

"I did not!"

"-but I'm not quite ready to make that sort of commitment in our relationship, so I insisted we remain fully clothed. But even so –"

"That's really enough. Thanks."

"-Pomfrey was convinced we'd spent the night engaged in all sorts of nefarious activities. If only she knew what _you_ got up to. Blaise, shouldn't the fly on your trousers be up?"

Blaise's hand instantly went to the front of his pants, only to discover that his fly was, in fact, already up. Draco's smirk grew.

"Well, it seems you were up to something with the good professor."

Blaise lowered himself to the couch and shot his friend a triumphant look.

"As a matter of fact, I was, until some idiot third year came along." He shrugged. "What are you two doing?"

Granger was dealing out what appeared to be a deck of cards, but they weren't wizarding cards.

"I'm about to teach Draco how to play poker. Are you in?"

"Poker?"

"A Muggle card game. It involves betting and –"

"I'm in." Blaise slid to the floor between them.

"He's addicted to gambling," Draco told Granger.

"No, he's addicted to winning. There's a difference. And I always win."

Granger smirked.

"Then I'm afraid your streak is about to be broken. My Dad was a card shark, and he taught me everyone he knew."

Blaise caught the use of past tense and looked over at Draco, but his friend was already studying the cards that Granger had passed out.

"Right. Keep your delusions alive for as long as you can. Tell me the rules so I can decide the most embarrassing way to trounce you two."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Prepare for some philosophical debate… won't be too bad, though.

Thanks for the reviews!

Another Chance

Chapter Ten

On Monday night Hermione made her way to McGongall's office with no small amount of trepidation. The school day had passed surprisingly quickly – and pleasantly. At breakfast, she received another letter from Viktor, and thankfully Draco received nothing except for a care package from his mother, filled with French sweets and a few books. Hermione had been very curious to see that they were Muggle titles – _The Stranger_ and _The Balcony_ – both in French. Blaise had joked that Draco was going through an existentialist phase, but Draco hadn't commented, and Hermione wondered if he had requested the books or if his mother had picked them herself. Viktor's letter had been… very unusual. He had spoken about the future again – detailing his house hunting plans – and invited himself to the Halloween Ball in a few weeks. He had apparently secured McGonagall's permission, and asked Hermione if she already had a date.

Hermione had shoved the letter into her bag before either Blaise or Draco could see it and had spent the better part of the day ignoring it.

Potions had gone well – Prince set them to brewing individually, which allowed Draco to be the first of the class to perfectly complete his potion, and had put the Slytherin a good mood. Hermione had watched him brewing, the way he seemed to be able to almost unconsciously put the potion together. It was a pain potion, the same that Pomfrey had given the two of them over the weekend, and Draco had altered his potion slightly. When Prince questioned him, Draco remarked that the potion seemed to numb not only the nerve endings, but also to lower inhibitions. Draco had tried to counter-act that side effect. Prince had awarded five points to Slytherin and commended Draco for his performance. The smirk of triumph that Draco turned on her had her rolling her eyes, but it also made her realize something. Draco really was good at Potions – far better than she would ever be, and he was passionate about it. Unlike her. The realization forced her to admit to herself that her pursuing a Potions apprenticeship made little sense. It took away time from Runes and Arithmancy – and those were far more important to her. Potions didn't thrill her like it did Draco. It was merely a means to an end, and she knew that pride had been the strongest reason for her to accept the apprenticeship.

This had carried over to History of Magic, and she, Draco, and Blaise had engaged in a heated debate over universal enfranchisement in the wizarding world by passing notes between each other. This had earned glares from Ron and Harry as the two boys struggled to remain awake. Hermione knew that she was acting out of character – passing notes in class and making no effort to copy down every word Binns said – but this was far more interesting to her, and a much better use of her time.

Hermione spent the afternoon in the library, catching up on her work and completing a final draft for the Arithmancy equation she was developing for her apprenticeship. By the time she made it down for dinner, the meal was nearly over. She was pleased to see Stephan and Eleanor seated with the boys again –and the dinner conversation had revolved around schoolwork and, surprisingly, the upcoming Halloween Ball.

McGonagall had announced it at dinner on Saturday, while Draco and Hermione were in the infirmary, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if it was a spur of the moment decision on the Headmistress's part to keep moral high among the students.

It was to be a costumed event, and Hermione wondered if McGonagall wasn't being a bit careless – if everyone was costumed, then it was far more likely that an intruder could slip into the castle.

McGonagall walked with Hermione from the Great Hall to her office, the older witch strangely silent, and Hermione wondered just what the meeting was about – McGonagall had never had cause to be angry with Hermione, but the Gryffindor girl couldn't help but feel that her professor had at last found occasion. Hermione just wished she had some clue what it was.

"Please, take a seat," McGonagall said after they entered the office. She had left the office in much the same condition as Snape, and Hermione's gaze was immediately drawn to the portrait of the very recently deceased Headmaster. His fathomless black eyes were staring at her as she took a seat, and Hermione wondered what he knew about his godson's recent troubles.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you." Hermione folded her hands in her lap and tried to look as docile as possible.

McGonagall took a seat behind the impressive desk and regarded Hermione over the top of her spectacles.

"Miss Granger, it is no secret that I have always considered you to be one of my best pupils. You are a credit to your parents, and a credit to your house."

"Thank you, Headmistress."

"When you accepted the position as Head Girl, I was rather surprised. And since then, I have been very pleased."

Hermione leaned back in her chair, not bothering to hide her shock.

"You and Mr. Zabini have made efforts to encourage inter-house cooperation, and to disband the house prejudices that have long divided this school. For that, I am grateful. But, Miss Granger, you should not put this position above your own personal happiness."

"I don't understand."

"I have noticed your estrangement with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, and I daresay the entire school has taken note of the fact that you now spend most of your time with Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini."

"Blaise is the Head Boy, of course I spend a lot of time with him." Hermione really couldn't believe this was happening – McGonagall had just finished complimenting her and was now reprimanding her.

"And Mr. Malfoy? I confess, I have little comprehension of your relationship with him."

Hermione was saved from answering by the voice of Dumbledore, speaking from his portrait to Hermione's right.

"Young Mr. Malfoy is a child of curious destiny. Like Harry, he was left with little choice for much of his life. He was forced to follow a path of Darkness, but now that he is free to make his own decisions, I believe Mr. Malfoy truly seeks to make a better life."

Hermione nodded emphatically, grateful for his interjection. Dumbledore's eyes maintained their twinkle, even as a portrait, and she swallowed back a sudden wave of sadness. How she wished Dumbledore had lived.

"And yet, Mr. Malfoy, for all of his obvious intelligence, demonstrates few qualities that you, Hermione, seem to value so highly."

"Such as? He's very funny, driven, talented."

"Courageous? Loyal? Brave? Miss Granger, what of those qualities. I almost fear that you have been blinded by the attention Mr. Malfoy has shown you."

"Headmistress, if we want to discuss loyalty – then I can't help but point out that my friends of seven years had shown none of that quality in recent days."

"Perhaps that is because you abandoned them."

"What? I didn't abandon them!"

"You simply moved on to flashier, brighter stars," McGonagall mused.

Hermione felt her face flush. She hadn't. In no way had she compared Ron and Harry to Blaise and Draco and decided that they were the better pair. She had simply decided that Draco needed her… and neither Blaise nor Draco ever belittled her for who she was. They fully accepted that she was a swot of monumental proportions, and with the exception of Draco's new crusade to persuade her to 'loosen up', they let her be. Ron and Harry have never given her that consideration.

"They are simply my peers. It's a nice change to have someone I can talk to about a topic other than Quidditch. And as for courage and bravery – Draco Malfoy defended my life just two days ago. He very easily could have abandoned me, and yet he stayed and together we defeated the Death Eater."

Hermione looked at Snape's portrait out of the corner of her eye, suddenly wondering how he felt about Saturday's events. She wondered too, if he was aware that his godson's father had been murdered.

Snape's face was very blank, however, and he was looking off into his own portrait, seemingly disinterested in the conversation at hand. Hermione wondered if she could figure out a way to have a conversation with him, without McGonagall's presence.

"I merely wish to caution you, Miss Granger. The temptation to change and start fresh is to be expected, after what you have been through, but I would hate to see you cut yourself off from friends you have cared for since your childhood."

"I… appreciate your concern, Headmistress. I wanted to speak with you about the upcoming Halloween Ball."

"Ah yes, Mr. Krum is, of course, welcome to attend."

"Oh, well, actually, I had questions about the security of the school. It's to be a masquerade ball, and I am concerned, with the recent attack, and with a possible murderer on the loose –"

"Miss Granger, you are aware that Mr. Rowle is in Azkaban. And the Ministry has every confidence that Lucius Malfoy's murderer is still in Azkaban. Unless you have any information to the contrary, I suggest you _and_ Mr. Malfoy cease with your accusations."

"But –"

"Hermione. I understand that recovering from the war can be extremely difficult. You experienced so much, at such a young age, and your faith in the Ministry was sorely tested. But, I assure you, you must put the past behind you and try to move forward. Not every incident is part of a conspiracy. Now, my dear, might I inquire as to your plans for after Hogwarts?"

There was that question again – the one that she was expected to be able to immediately answer. As though she had everything mapped out perfectly. Hermione sighed.

"It will take at least two years, after graduation, to complete my apprenticeships. Possibly longer. Although," Hermione closed her eyes and had a brief mental debate with herself. "Although I am considering withdrawing from my Potions apprenticeship."

She expected McGonagall to gasp in shock and disapproval. Instead she found the Headmistress nodding her approval.

"Miss Granger, I think that is a very mature decision. I know you commit yourself quickly and passionately, but three apprenticeships _is_ too many. I trust you will keep the Arithmancy and Runes apprenticeships, however."

"Yes. My passion lies in those subjects. Additionally, Professor Smith has offered to teach me how to become an Animagus."

McGonagall smiled.

"Yes, he discussed it with me. He was very disappointed that you were a Gryffindor and not a member of his house."

"I'm very happy he is willing to take the time to work with me over the Winter Break."

"Yes. Miss Granger, I don't mean to pry, but your parents, as I understand, are still in Australia."

Hermione felt a moment of panic and wondered if Viridian had reported Thursday's incident to the Headmistress.

"Yes, they… prefer the climate."

"Ah, I simply wondered. The draft for your tuition was from the London Branch of Gringotts."

"Yes. I inherited quite a bit of money from my Grandmother, and I paid for this year."

"Oh, my dear. Were they unhappy with your decision to remain in the wizarding world after the war?"

Hermione could feel her panic start to rise. Why did McGonagall _care_ so much?

"No, well, sort of. I just wanted to be independent."

"Hm. Will you be emigrating after you complete your apprenticeships? I must confess, I would be sad to see you travel so far away. As would your friends."

"Oh, no, I've no plans to leave England."

"Wonderful. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Miss Granger. And please, think on what we discussed… regarding Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

"Yes, of course." Hermione would have said anything to get out of the office, and she was relieved when, a moment later, she was down the staircase and leaning against the cool stone wall by the gargoyle.

She took a moment to try and pull herself together, but the panic McGonagall had inspired refused to go away. She closed her eyes and forced herself to think about something else – anything else – but her mind was completely fixated on her parents. On her father.

"Good evening, Miss Granger." Hermione opened her eyes and saw Professor Viridian approaching. Her throat tightened.

"Good evening, Professor."

"I trust you are recovered from Saturday's… ordeal."

"Yes sir, thank you."

They stood in tense silence for a moment.

"I won't keep you, sir."

"Actually, Miss Granger, I would like to have a word with you. Do you have patrols this evening?"

She smirked.

"No, actually. Blaise and Draco have my patrols for the week."

He arched an eyebrow at that.

"Very well. I need to speak with the Headmistress, but shall we meet in my office in… fifteen minutes?"

Hermione found herself nodding, and idly wondered if he was going to give her a speech similar to McGonagall's and warn her off from his house.

Viridian disappeared up the spiral staircase and Hermione leisurely made her way down to Viridian's office. The professor arrived a few minutes early and gestured her inside.

"Tea?" He asked, guiding her over to the two armchairs by the fireplace.

"Yes, please." She wanted something to do with her hands more than have something to drink. Viridian knew more about her than anyone else, at this point, and he could very easily make her life hell, with just a few words to the Headmistress, or the Ministry, or Blaise, or Draco, or –

"Miss Granger, how do you take your tea?" His tone of voice made it clear that he was repeating the question.

"Sorry. Just a bit of honey." She accepted the cup and saucer from him gratefully and sat back in the armchair, comforted by the high back and smooth upholstery.

"Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak with Mr. Zabini regarding last Thursday's class."

Hermione managed to keep a straight face and forced herself _not_ to think of Viridian and Blaise deep in _discussion_.

"Yes sir?" She managed to keep her voice steady – and then a sudden fear struck her. "You told him?"

"No, Miss Granger. The trial that each student faced in class is an entirely private matter." Viridian looked mildly offended. "Mr. Zabini and I discussed the class as a whole. Hardly any of the students passed the trial, Miss Granger, though no one failed quite as spectacularly as _you_."

She took this jibe without comment and waited for him to continue.

"I believe that your entire year, if not most of the school, is suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome, and that all of you are perilously close to falling prey to Dark intentions. Your friends, in particular, are of great concern to me."

"Sir?" She wondered if he considered her a foregone conclusion. She was, after all, a murderer.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. They demonstrated significant anger and hatred – I was shocked, in fact, by their actions."

"Oh."

"Miss Granger, your best friends are very close to becoming Dark Wizards. Mr. Potter is treading a dangerous path, and Mr. Weasley seems intent on following him. They are open to anger, and are letting their fear and hatred control their reasoning. No good can come of that."

"I understand." She wondered what _she_ was supposed to do, wondered if Viridian had somehow missed her current estrangement from the two boys.

"They are not the only ones, Miss Granger. Of your class, only four individuals passed the trial. Four."

"Out of sixty?" She was disturbed by the thought that her entire class was so susceptible to Dark arts.

"Yes. You, of course, failed the trial, but for entirely different reasons. Miss Granger –"

"Please, sir, I can't –"

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger, that is not of current interest to me. I merely wish to suggest that you encourage your friends, all of the students from your year, for that matter, to be more open about their involvement in the war, and the lingering affects it has on them."

"Do you want me to start a group therapy club?"

Viridian chuckled.

"No, nothing so formal as that. I feel that as Head Girl, you are in a unique position to hold the other student's confidences."

"What about Blaise? He – oh. He failed the trial?"

Viridian nodded, his expression dark. Hermione wondered just what Blaise's relationship with the professor entailed. It seemed that, at least on Viridian's part, there was more than mere sexual attraction.

"I'm not sure I'm in any condition to help my peers," Hermione confessed.

"I have always found that, when faced when insurmountable troubles of my own, the act of focusing on others sometimes allows me to view my own life from a different perspective. That is not to say that I ignore myself – or my problems. But the added points of reference are very useful."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I understand. I – I'll try."

"Very good. And now, Miss Granger, you must tell me what occurred on Thursday. You were irrational and hysterical, and you intimated that you were responsible for your father's death. The Headmistress insists that your parents are in Australia, alive and well."

"I thought you said this wasn't of interest!"

"It wasn't, a moment ago, that does not mean it is not important."

"I – please, sir."

"Tell me, Miss Granger, or I will not hesitate to go to the Headmistress and encourage _her_ to have this discussion with you." His gaze was fierce and Hermione swallowed.

"Sir, I…" Hermione forced herself to calm down, to fight off the panic. "Last year, after Professor Dumbledore's death, I decided to put memory charms on my parents and move them to Australia. We… we disagreed on whether or not I should help Harry defeat Voldemort. They wanted me to leave the Wizarding world. But - I couldn't. Harry needed me, and it was important to defeat Voldemort. He had killed so many innocent people, and - and so I made them forget they had ever had a daughter. I changed their names and I relocated them. After the war, this past summer, I went back, to fix the memory charms." Hermione forced herself to remain emotionless. She stared at the rapidly cooling tea in her hand. "I couldn't. I tried, on my father. But the charm did something. It must have affected his brain in a way it wasn't supposed to – he went into shock, I think, and I tried to revive him, but that only made it worse. He died. And my mother – my mother called the police and I apparated away. I just left them there. I killed my father and I left them."

Silence stretched between them and Hermione closed her eyes. She had no idea what to anticipate. Viridian literally held her life in his hands.

"Fate is a curious thing, Miss Granger. Have you ever read _The Time Machine_?"

Hermione looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. Viridian sat regarding her levelly.

"H.G. Wells?"

"Yes. Do you recall the reason he invented the Time Machine?"

"His wife was murdered. He wanted to go back, and save her."

"Exactly. And what happened?"

"He failed. She still died. But, sir, I don't understand –"

"My point, Miss Granger, is that we may try out damnedest to fight fate, we may change every circumstance we have the power to, but we are still mere pawns."

Hermione reflected back on Draco's current existentialist reading list.

"Sir – I confess that I am a strong believer in free will."

"Very well. Then explain to me how a boy, a mere child with spotty control of his magic and a rather limited repertoire of spells was able to defeat the most powerful, brilliant wizard of our age."

"Harry? I – Voldemort's own spell backfired."

"Yes," Viridian agreed.

"But – Harry was protected."

"Yes," Viridian repeated. "And Voldemort had sealed his own fate the night Snape killed Dumbledore."

"I don't understand."

"Balance, Miss Granger. Magic does not possess sentience, however, there is a balance of power – of Dark and Light – that must be maintained in order for our continued existence."

Hermione frowned, interested and confused.

"Dumbledore and Voldemort were the most powerful wizards of their age, and they were also perfectly juxtapositioned: Dumbledore, wizard of the Light, and Voldemort, who had not an ounce of remorse and is one of the Darkest wizards to ever live. But together, their magic provided a balance. When Dumbledore died, all of his power, all of his intent, was released. It became metaphysically impossible for Voldemort to continue to exist."

"So the Dark and the Light… it's like some sort of symbiotic relationship."

"Indeed."

"But surely Voldemort knew this!"

"Yes," Viridian agreed, looking at her closely. "And yet he tempted fate. And he paid for his hubris with his life."

Hermione was silent, absorbing this.

"Miss Granger, what would have happened, had your parents remained in England?"

"I – they were under Order protection, but in the months leading up to my… decision, there were more frequent attacks on them, on the neighborhood. And Order resources were stretched thin. But – it isn't certain they would have died."

"Miss Granger, if you cannot be honest with yourself, there is no hope for you."

Hermione let out a sigh that turned into a sob.

"I only wanted to save them!"

"You did. You gave them another year together, in peace, away from near certain torture and death. And your mother is still alive."

"But my father is dead! What kind of life does that leave her?"

"Not an easy one," Viridian agreed, " but I seriously doubt she would have preferred to watch her husband suffer the cruciatius until he went insane, and was then murdered."

Hermione shook her head and set the tea cup down on the table.

"I can't – I can't just say that it was _fate_ and exonerate myself!"

"No," he agreed. "But you must learn to accept that your actions were guided by a greater hand. You made a grave error in judgement, and, like Voldemort, you demonstrated remarkable hubris. Miss Granger, you may be the smartest witch of your age – but even you have your limits. The Ministry relies on Charms Masters with years and years of experience to perform all Memory Charm removals."

"I know! I failed. I _know_."

"Miss Granger, I would argue that you succeeded in the face of overwhelming odds. You must learn to acknowledge your errors and move forward. You cannot allow yourself to wallow in the past."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to go along with life and anything bad that happens – just blame it on fate or magic or whatever?"

"No. Simply admit that there is a force greater than you. A force that has given you life, and has given you power."

"You sound like a missionary."

Viridian smirked.

"I have been accused of proselytizing before," he conceded. "And yet, as an instructor in this school, it is my duty to guide you, to teach you. You are familiar, I believe, with Severus Snape's life history?"

Hermione nodded after a moment's consideration. She wondered how Viridian was familiar with him – and then realized that, no doubt, they had attended school together.

"He spent his entire adult life suffering from his mistakes. He punished himself daily for his actions. His _penance_: he despised teaching, he despised Potter, he despised himself. Yet he forced himself to suffer through nearly twenty years of self-deprivation and self-flagellation. Do you think it made him a better man? A good man?"

"He _was_ a good man. But – he was tortured," Hermione admitted at Viridian's sharp glance.

"And is that a life you see for yourself? Will you allow yourself to be chained by your guilt?"

"I can't just forget about it."

"No, you must embrace it," he agreed. "Miss Granger, it grows late, and I feel we could have this debate for the next three hours and you would still be skeptical. I have one last request, and then you may go."

"Yes sir."

"Tell someone else, about your father."

"No!"

Viridian arched an eyebrow.

"I _can't_. They would hate me!"

"But isn't that what you deserve?"

"Yes. But I don't want it."

Viridian nodded.

"I think you put little faith in the intelligence and maturity of those you surround yourself with."

"Harry and Ron would never speak to me again," Hermione said.

"I was actually referring to Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini. I am certain that either of them would understand your actions far better than Potter or Weasley. And I am confident that they will surprise you in their response."

Hermione frowned. Her friendship with the two boys was very new, and very fragile. There were so many topics they could not discuss, and Hermione could admit that part of her was afraid that someday soon they would tire of her.

"Professor –"

"It was not a demand, Miss Granger. You must do as you see fit. However, I hope that past experiences have taught you that wisdom is far more reliable than rash action."

Hermione inclined her head, acknowledging his words.

"Good night, Miss Granger."

"Good night, Professor Viridian."

Hermione saw herself out and walked back to her common room in a daze.

Despite the late hour, both Blaise and Draco up. She was mildly amused to see them playing poker. Her defeat of them the previous night had been pretty brutal, and she wasn't surprised that they were taking advantage of her absence to improve their skills.

Draco looked up at her entrance.

"Granger, McGonagall kept you a while."

"I was sidetracked." She sat down on the couch, behind Draco, and looked over his hand. "Viridian wanted to speak with me."

"Oh?" Blaise tried to look disinterested.

"Yes. He wanted to know if you would prefer roses or lilacs."

"What?!" Blaise looked up at her, startled and his eyes filled with fear.

"Mm. I told him you would rather Belladonna. And he thought that was _awfully_ romantic." She forced a theatrical sigh. "Oh, to have a love such as yours."

Blaise glared at her.

"Granger, you've been spending entirely too much time in our company. You're supposed to be the straight-laced Gryffindor who can't lie. You aren't supposed to sit around and… be sarcastic. It's unnatural."

"Blaise, she was this way before we found her," Draco said. "We're just a more receptive audience than the Idiot Twins."

Hermione stretched out on the couch and couldn't help but agree with Draco.

Blaise just shook his head.

"Please, tell me you didn't talk about me."

"Briefly," she admitted and his eyes narrowed. "We talked about class on Thursday, and how out entire year is practically doomed."

"Did he… say anything in particular?" Blaise's eyes shifted over to Draco for a second and Hermione filed that away. Had Draco been involved in his trial?

"No, mentioned that Harry and Ron did really poorly. Not as bad as I did, but…" she shrugged.

Draco turned around and put one arm on the couch. He studied her, his grey eyes intent as he tried to gauge her mood.

"What did happen on Thursday?" He asked, his voice surprisingly low.

Hermione swallowed and looked over at Blaise. The other Slytherin had laid down his cards and was regarding her as well. She looked back at Draco and drew a deep breath.

"It's a long story," she said.

Blaise held up a hand.

"Then hang on a second, I need to get supplies." He jumped to his feet and disappeared into his bedroom.

"Can I join you?" Draco asked, gesturing to the couch.

Hermione nodded and sat up. She pulled off her shoes and then tucked her feet under her. Draco took off his own shoes and sat in the empty spot she had left, one arm stretched across the back of the couch, his body angled towards her. Hermione swallowed hard and realized this might be the last time she had the chance to sit with him, to talk to him. Despite Viridian's confidence, she had little hope that either Draco or Blaise would feel anything but disgust for her. At the same time… it really would feel good to tell _someone_, even if it just meant two less people who thought she was someone, something, that she wasn't.

"You two look cozy," Blaise remarked as he came back into the room holding a bottle of what appeared to be champagne.

"Clicquot? Blaise, this isn't a celebration."

"I've been prohibited from conjuring fire-whiskey. And I have the feeling that this long story of yours could do with alcoholic accompaniment. Draco, make yourself useful and conjure us up some glasses."

Draco rolled his eyes but complied with the request. Blaise filled the three champagne flutes, passed them out, and then sat in the armchair across from them.

"Alright, I'm ready. Draco?"

The blonde turned to Hermione and arched an eyebrow.

Hermione took a rather large gulp of her champagne.

"After Dumbledore was killed, I decided that my parents needed more protection from the Death Eaters…"

* * *

"I always hated that book," Blaise was the first to speak after Hermione finished her story. Actually, I hated all of his books."

Granger looked ready to break into a million pieces. She was clutching her champagne flute so tightly Draco thought she might snap it in half. She was looking at the floor, just as she had been for the last hour as she recounted every painful detail, including her conversation with Viridian.

Draco was grateful that Blaise had spoken, because he could think of nothing to say. He had known that something was wrong with her, but he had never imagined Granger to be this fucked up. He had no experience with this situation. Oddly enough, he was familiar with other people who had committed patricide, but he didn't think Granger would appreciate any of those comparisons, even if it was just in Draco's head, so he forced himself to try to think of something else.

"Still, he's right," Blaise continued. Draco marveled at the fact that Blaise was able to take Granger's bombshell in stride so easily. "You aren't a murderer."

Granger swallowed hard and Draco could see that she was fighting off tears. He hoped she didn't start to cry.

Blaise cleared his throat, and Draco looked over at him. Blaise shot him a look and gestured at Granger. Apparently it was Draco's turn to talk. He sought for something to say. How the hell was he supposed to comfort a girl who had just admitted to killing her father?

"They were on the list," he said at last. Granger finally looked at him.

"What list?"

"Voldemort's list of Muggle threats. He would have killed them."

Tears started to fall from Granger's eyes and Draco wanted desperately to be anywhere but in this room. Before yesterday he had had virtually no experience with comforting a crying woman. His own mother cried in private – and while he made have heard her tears, there was no way he would be allowed to come anywhere near her when she was in a vulnerable state. Pansy had often tried to use forced tears to her advantage, and Draco had easily rebuffed her efforts. But Granger – she cried as though her soul was splitting in two. Which, he supposed, it rather was.

"Look, I've got rounds," Blaise said, suddenly, and Draco glared at him, furious that his friend was abandoning him. Blaise shot him a hard look and then crossed the room to Granger. "You miscalculated, and it was… very bad. But you're still Hermione Granger. You aren't a monster, you aren't even Dark. You're just a bit damaged." Blaise leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Blaise left them, Granger silently crying, and Draco praying for a natural disaster.

"You can go," Granger croaked and he at her. She was back to staring at the floor."

"What?"

"You don't have to stay. You – I understand, Malfoy. You can _go_." This was said with a fair amount of anger. It took Draco a moment to realize that it wasn't directed at him, but at herself.

"I thought you were calling me Draco," he reminded her.

She sniffed.

"Not much point in that now," she said and he could see her throat working as she struggled with herself.

"Granger –" he realized very suddenly that he was being a complete idiot. "Granger, look at me."

After a moment she did, and the sheer devastation completely undid him. He shifted towards her on the couch and took hold of her arms. She sat completely rigid, and he could feel how tense her muscles were. He tugged and managed to pull her to him, nestling her in his arms and between his legs. She remained tense and he rubbed one hand over her back.

"Granger,I have no right to judge you, I wouldn't even think to. There's nothing I can say to you that matters. Granger –"

"But it does matter!" She turned her face up to him, still crying, and this close up he see that her eyes, normally a warm, golden honey color, were a dark brown. "It does matter, Draco. I – it _does_ matter. If you hate me, if you – I deserve it." She closed her eyes and looked down.

"Granger, you didn't murder him. It was an accident. A really, really terrible accident. And, yeah, it _was _your fault, but – no matter how much you love someone, how much you try to protect them, life fucks you over. I can't agree with Viridian, not entirely. I think fate is a bunch of bollocks, but he was right about one thing: you saved them. You gave them a year together, without fear, a chance to be together. And you saved your father – and your mother – from a horrible death. Voldemort did not kill Muggles quickly. They were your parents. He would have been thrilled at the chance to exact his frustration on them."

He brushed her hair aside and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him again.

"Granger – I'm in no position to cast stones, and you're the last person I would ever want to cast stones at."

There. He'd said it – gone and confessed himself to her the very night _she_ confessed to killing her father. She looked at him blankly for a moment and then leaned against his chest.

"Draco, I'm very lucky to have you and Blaise. I – thank you."

That was not the response he had been expecting. He wondered if she had really misunderstood him – or had purposely taken that to be his meaning to allow him to save face. He reigned in his disappointment and pulled her closer.

"I still can't believe you failed an assignment," he murmured into her hair.

She gave a watery laugh and he smiled.

"Apparently I'm in good company. Blaise failed as well. Did you?"

"I don't think so," Draco said, thinking back to Viridian's praise.

"I suppose one of us has to turn out decently," she muttered.

"Don't you dare go and saddle me with that. I'll be a Dark wizard if I want, Granger. Just because you and Blaise have a head start."

She laughed again.

"Who would have guessed that out of all of us, you're the well-adjusted one."

"I think I've just had the chance to put things in perspective," Draco argued, thinking back to the year of terror before this, and the sixteen years before _that_.

"Perhaps you're right. Thank you, for not abandoning me."

"Granger, we're friends. I'm not about to go running from you when you need me." Even if he wanted to. And that was the moment he realized that he was in deep. Granger had made it clear that she saw him as nothing more than a friend – and Draco very desperately wanted to become more than that.

"It's nearly midnight," Draco said.

"Oh. I –" Granger pulled away and sat up, wiping her face.

"We've got Defense in the morning," he continued, "and I can only imagine what Viridian wants to put us through after discovering a cabal of Dark wizards in the making. You should get some sleep."

She nodded, still not looking at him.

"I can stay," he suggested, knowing it would only be torture for himself. But what sweet torture.

Granger bit her lip as she considered, and he was on the verge of withdrawing the offer and leaving when she finally spoke.

"I hate to think I've become reliant on you, but I honestly could use a good night of sleep."

He didn't know if she was accepting or rejecting him.

"Saturday night was probably the most I've slept all year, and the only time I haven't had nightmares."

Draco took this revelation in stride, though he felt no need to let her know that it was the same for him. He had opened himself up enough as it was.

"Excellent, I've always wondered what it would be like to spend the night in the Head Girl's bed."

That startled another laugh out of her, and Draco admitted to himself that, as painful and awkward as it had been, telling Blaise and himself about her father had done Granger good.

He stood and held out his hand.

"Shall we?" Granger accepted his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

Her room was just bigger than his own, done in tasteful, neutral shades instead of the red and gold he might have expected. The bed was a four-poster, but big enough to easily accommodate three people if they stretched out, and her duvet was a deep blue. A low fire burned in the hearth against one wall, casting a golden glow on the furniture and the pile of books on her desk. He rolled his eyes at the bookshelves lining one wall, completely filled, and, he had no doubt, carefully categorized.

"I'm just going to brush my teeth," Granger said, and tugged her hand free. He watched as she grabbed a set of pajamas from her wardrobe, amused that she seemed almost shy.

Draco contemplated transfiguring his clothes into pajamas – but he would need to wear them again tomorrow, and he had no desire to spend forty-eight hours in the same pair of clothes, cleansing charm or no. He waited until Granger had disappeared into the bathroom and left her room to break into Blaise's.

He made short work of the wards, and a mental note to hassle Blaise about that, and rifled through his friend's wardrobe until he found a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. He changed, wondering what Granger would have done if she had walked in on him changing in _her_ room, and then went back into the Head Girl's bedroom. He cast a cleansing charm on his teeth, the one he thought Granger used, and was pleased to taste the same minty flavor that her charm produced.

She returned a moment later, dressed in what he assumed were Muggle pajamas – pants similar to the ones he wore, and a thin, strappy top that exposed all of her shoulders and a fair amount of her chest. He found himself staring – he had expected one of the nightdresses that girls from his own house favored, but he realized that that was perhaps a bit too Victorian for the Muggleborn witch. Safer, though, he though as he took in the form fitting top and the pants that fit low on her hips and dragged the floor. It took little effort to imagine what she looked like under those clothes, and he shook himself. Whatever her interest level might or might not have been, he wasn't going to even think of taking advantage of her.

"Um – do you have a preference?" She asked.

He arched an eyebrow at the question.

"On the bed," he said.

"I meant a side. I – I usually sleep by the wall, but you're a guest, and –"

"Granger, is this a _slumber party_?"

She glared and walked past him and got into the bed without another word.

He smirked and took the other side of the bed – closest to the window – and climbed in.

Granger had her back to him and he reached out and traced the edge of her top. It was made from some strange, silky, stretchy material that was foreign to him.

She rolled over and looked at him questioningly. He held her gaze and a moment later she scooted over to his side of the bed and pulled one of his arms around her.

"This is becoming a bad habit," she muttered as he angled his body to fit against hers.

"I beg to differ. I think it's easily one of my few good habits."

"Draco – if you – you don't have to pretend, you know. If you can't stand me now, you don't have to –"

"Granger. Stop it. I'm Draco Malfoy, if I didn't like you, I'd tell you, and I damn well wouldn't subject myself to three nights of sleeping with someone I didn't like."

"But you didn't know –"

"I know now. I can make up my mind and I've bloody made it up. You're stuck with me. Now roll over, I live it better when you're on your side."

She gave an exasperated sigh but then complied. He pulled her against him, once again marveling at how well they fit together, and closed his eyes.

"Draco –"

"Good night, Granger."

"Good night, Draco."

* * *

Blaise went down to breakfast early the next morning, not knowing if Granger would even join them, or when Draco would put in an appearance. Stephan and Eleanor were already seated and they greeted him rather enthusiastically.

"What's with you two?" He asked.

"Nothing," Eleanor said, but she smiled at Stephan, who wore a goofy grin of his own.

"Pull yourselves together. You aren't Hufflepuffs," Blaise admonished, but he was amused.

"Just because you aren't getting any, Zabini," Stephan mumbled.

"Oh, Cornfoot, your concern is really touching."

"Where are Granger and –oh, there they are."

Blaise turned around to see Granger and Draco entering the Great Hall and he wondered how they had managed to time that out so well.

Granger seemed to be holding together pretty well for someone who had just confessed to killing her father, and Draco had lost the shell-shocked expression from last night as well. Blaise wondered just how long Draco had stayed before escaping – it had been obvious that his friend had absolutely no idea what to say to Granger – but, since Granger wasn't sulking or looking like she'd been run over by the Knight Bus, he assumed that Draco had at least made an attempt.

"Morning," he greeted them.

"Good morning Blaise, Eleanor, Stephan." Granger managed a wan smile as she and Draco sat.

"Are you feeling alright, Hermione?"

"Oh, yeah. Just up working on homework."

This earned a snort from Draco.

Granger glared at him and then turned to Blaise. She smiled sweetly.

"How were rounds last night?"

"I always assumed you would be a graceful winner, you know, someone who doesn't hold it over the loser's head?" He groused.

"Poor assumption on your part," she said, still smiling.

Blaise shrugged.

"Broke up some more snogging couples. Most of them seventh years – they do have private rooms, don't they? Why the hell do they have to use the _corridor_ for a groping session?"

"The excitement of getting caught, I expect," Stephan said and he and Eleanor exchanged another look.

Ew. Blaise did _not_ want to think about that.

Mail arrived, Granger once again getting a letter from Krum. Draco was glaring at the parchment and Blaise amused himself as he wondered when his friend would realize that he was jealous. Granger read the note quickly and then shoved it in her bag, just as she had done before, and turned back to her breakfast without comment.

A school owl landed in front of Draco and the blonde took the proffered parchment uneasily.

Blaise watched Draco's face as he read over the parchment, but his features were carefully schooled into boredom. Which was a very bad thing.

"Love letter?" Blaise asked casually.

"Mm. From that secret admirer?" Granger's voice was just as casual.

"Yes…." Draco folded up the parchment and shoved it into his pocket.

"Not Megan?" Eleanor asked.

"No, Eleanor. Surely you realize just how many girls in this school are kept awake at night with thoughts of me."

Granger rolled her eyes at that but Eleanor laughed, suitably distracted.

"Did your admirer invite you to the Ball?"

"Yes, actually."

Blaise looked over at his friend at the same time as Granger, but Draco still had his mask of boredom firmly in place.

"Draco – "

"Malfoy."

They looked up to see Ginny Weasley standing at the end of their table.

"Weasley," Draco drawled.

"I wanted to thank you, for saving Hermione."

There were confused glances from everyone at the table.

"Harry and Ron just told me what happened. I – McGonagall did a pretty thorough job discouraging us from asking questions. So, thank you. She means a lot."

Weasley said this last while looking at Granger. Blaise was mildly alarmed to see that Granger looked close to tears.

"Ginny –"

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I've been acting stupidly and I just… you're my friend, and I'm sorry. Can I… can I join you for breakfast?"

Granger looked over at Draco and he shrugged.

"Please," Granger said and smiled.

Weasley took the seat beside her and looked over at the two Ravenclaws.

"Stephan, Eleanor."

"Ginny."

"Blaise."

"Weasley." Granger might have given in easily, but Weasley was no friend of his, even with her gratitude for Draco.

"Anyway," Weasley said, snagging a piece of sausage from Granger's plate instead of getting her own, "I was wondering what your thoughts on this Ball are."

"McGonagall is obviously trying to convince us that nothing is wrong," Granger said, frowning.

"That's what I said – and Ron and Harry told me I was being overly-dramatic." She shook her head. "Idiots. Boys are idiots."

Blaise cleared his throat and Weasley had the grace to look apologetic.

"Present company excluded, of course."

Blaise noticed that Draco was tense, and wondered what the letter had said. Or perhaps Weasley was grating on his nerves as much as she was on his?

"I'm looking forward to the game this weekend," Weasley continued, and Blaise wondered if she knew how to be quiet.

"Fan of losing?" Draco sneered.

Weasley grinned and ate another sausage from Granger's plate.

"I'd watch it, Malfoy, out team's pretty solid."

"Solid doesn't win games," Draco argued. Granger was starting to look irritated, and Blaise sent her a sympathetic look. He too despised Quidditch talk. Meanwhile, Stephan and Eleanor had gone back to looking at each other longingly. Blaise mentally catalogued all of the wonderful ways that love potions could go wrong and drive people insane. It really was disgusting the way Stephan and Eleanor were carrying on.

"Say, Malfoy, you wouldn't want to take me to the Ball, would you?"

Blaise was abruptly jerked out of his pleasant thoughts by Weasley's non-sequitor.

"What?"

"It'll be fun. And a chance to annoy Harry…" Weasley winked at Draco.

Draco's look of confusion and revulsion was priceless.

"Ginny – why aren't you going with Harry?" Granger's face wasn't too bad either: disbelief and anger, not the combination he would have expected.

"Because he's being stupid. He still thinks that Malfoy's a wanna-be Death Eater and it's _clear_ that's no longer the case. I'm just trying to prove a point."

"And making him jealous of Draco accomplishes that how?"

"My being with Malfoy will make it clear that _I_ trust him – and that's two for Malfoy, including you."

"Ginny, I really don't think that's a good idea. Harry's – "

"Hermione, it's not like _you're_ going with him. Besides, it shows inter-house cooperation. Right, Malfoy?" Weasley smiled winningly, looking cute.

"Ginny –"

"It'll break Megan's heart, but it would be my pleasure to escort you, Weasley," Draco interrupted.

Blaise and Granger both turned to him in shock. Weasley looked triumphant.

"You'll have to call me Ginny."

"You can still call me Malfoy."

"Great. We'll need to work on costumes – I'll research some famous Muggle couple or something. See you later!" She grabbed _another_ sausage from Granger's plate and was gone.

"That was… unexpected," Stephan was the first to break the tense silence around the table. He turned to Eleanor. "Care to attend the Ball with me?"

"Of course!" Eleanor leaned over and kissed him and Blaise bit his tongue to keep from taking off points.

Granger was obviously fuming, while Draco looked rather pleased with himself.

Blaise cleared his throat.

"Well, Granger, since people seem to be in the mood for asking, would you do the honor of accompanying me to the Ball?"

Granger raised her chin and gave him her haughtiest look.

"I'm sorry Blaise, but I already have a date."

"You do?" Draco looked at her.

"Yes. Viktor asked McGonagall for permission to attend, and he wants to be my date."

"Viktor _Krum?_"

Granger nodded, smiling.

"Yes. It's quite romantic – asking permission and everything."

Draco's face turned sour and he stood from the table.

"I've got to go back to my room and get my books. I'll see you in class."

Blaise looked over at Granger and noticed that her smile had faded.

"Defense class?" Granger suggested. Blaise followed her and waited until they were in relative privacy before speaking.

"Draco spent the night?"

"Yes." She was blushing and even Blaise was a bit taken aback. Draco had spent the night… in her _room_?

"I take it he managed to get over himself and talk to you, then."

"Eventually." She turned to Blaise. He looked at her, wary of the expression on her face. A moment later she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his back and holding him tightly.

"Blaise, thank you for… for not hating me."

He awkwardly patted her side, his own arms trapped.

"Don't mention it. I'm known for my overwhelmingly magnanimous personality."

She pulled away and smiled at him.

"Sorry. I just… thank you."

He nodded, uncomfortable at her gesture but even more so by the fact that he actually appreciated it.

Granger continued to walk and he shook himself and started after her.

For all the jokes he made about he and Draco corrupting her, Blaise was starting to suspect that she was having a similar effect on them.

"Krum's taking you to the Ball?"

She looked over her shoulder at him in exasperation.

"Of course. We've been friends for years."

"Right."

"It's just a date. I do appreciate you asking me, though. But you didn't have to."

"Who else am I going to ask?"

At her irritated look he hastened to add, "I can think of no one else who would provide excellent conversation and look as beautiful as I know you would."

She rolled her eyes and then took on a mischievous look.

"You could always ask Neville. Inter-house cooperation, you know."

Blaise was about to deliver a scathing reply when the Gryffindor in question actually walked by them.

Longbottom had come into his own during the war, and Blaise was forced to admit that he was actually… rather decent looking. Near Blaise's own height and with a slightly broader build, Longbottom stood out from the other boys of their year. His dark hair had a slight curl to it, and tended to fall over his forehead in a disarming way.

"Well?" Granger prompted, drawing him out of his examination.

"Longbottom," he called out, surprising himself and Granger.

The Gryffindor stopped at the sound of his name and then turned back to them.

"Hermione, Zabini," he said, smiling at Granger. Granger smiled back at him brightly and then patted his arm.

"I've got a question for Professor Viridian, I'm just going to go ahead." She gave Blaise a meaningful look and then made her escape.

Longbottom looked at him questioningly.

"Neville." It was perhaps the first time he had said the other boy's name.

"Blaise?" Longbottom tried, one corner of his mouth tipping up in obvious amusement.

"That idiotic Halloween Ball is coming up," Blaise started. "As a prefect, you'll have to spend most of your time patrolling."

"Right. I expected that." Longbottom still looked amused and Blaise silently cursed Granger.

"However, I would… appreciate your company."

Longbottom smirked.

"Zabini, do you want to be my date for the Halloween Ball?"

He was going to kill Granger. No doubt Longbottom would go to Potter and Weasley with this immediately. He contemplated oblivating Longbottom – and then, recalling what Granger had told him last night, thought better of it. He would just Avada himself instead.

Blaise merely arched an eyebrow, refusing to dig himself in any deeper.

Longbottom cocked his head to one side and tapped a finger against his lips. Nice, wide lips, Blaise noticed and then cursed himself again. And Granger.

"I've always been particular to the Cavalier look," Longbottom mused. "And I imagine you'd look pretty dashing in a cape…"

Blaise blinked.

"You aren't having me on?"

Longbottom chuckled.

"You're the infamous one, Zabini. I should probably be asking _you_ that question."

"You've changed," Blaise said, stupidly.

Longbottom shrugged.

"As have you. Shall we consider it a date?"

Blaise found himself nodding.

"Excellent. We should probably get to class before Viridian has our heads."

Longbottom gestured towards the Defense class and Blaise fell into step beside him, still out of sorts with this turn of events.

Viridian. Shit. Did asking Neville to the Ball constitute as breaking his rules about no one else? And was Blaise really referring to him as Neville now?


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thank you, thank to all the folks who leave a review for this, I appreciate all of the feedback, and I can't tell you how motivating it is.

So… I made a continuity mistake: Earlier on I said that the first Quidditch game would be in November, but, as Ginny and Draco pointed out last chapter, it is in fact the first weekend of October. So… my mistake on that.

I would also like to make a note about McGonagall from last chapter: Yes, she was indeed harsh, and she certainly doesn't seem to be in Draco's corner. But, from her perspective: this is the student who let Death Eaters into the school, he was also indirectly responsible for Dumbledore's death. She gave him quite the second chance by making him a prefect, and allowing Viridian to name him as Quidditch team captain… her reasons for being that magnanimous remain her own for now, but those are pretty big steps. However, McGonagall is also watching Hermione essentially abandon Ron and Harry for Draco, and that is certainly cause for concern for her. She wants the best for her prize pupil… and the reasons why she thinks Draco isn't the best will become clear soon.

* * *

Another Chance

Chapter Eleven

Friday afternoon found Blaise, for once, on his own in his common room, stretched out on the couch and contemplating a nap. The seventh years _not_ enrolled in Divination enjoyed a free period, and Blaise, Draco, and Granger were among the dozen or so students who had dropped the class early on. Blaise had found the class to be ridiculous, and while Trelawny was always good for a few laughs, it was a _soft_ _subject_, according to Blaise's father.

Granger was in the library, no doubt burying herself somewhere in the Restricted Section as she worked on a project for her apprenticeships. Draco was in the dungeons, working in Prince's private lab. Thursday Granger had told them that she was dropping the Potions apprenticeship, and Blaise had expected Draco to be ecstatic – on the contrary, it had resulted in another day full of snippy remarks as the two continued to bicker. It was enough to drive Blaise mental, and he was grateful for the reprieve from their company.

As much as he appreciated them, their constant bickering and insulting had reached epically annoying proportions ever since the Weasley girl decided to make a nuisance of herself Tuesday morning. Blaise wondered if Granger and Draco would buy a clue and realize they were mad for each other, but he refused to interfere. At this point, anyway. If things continued as they were, he might be tempted to take drastic measures.

Defense class that week had been… very different than what Blaise expected. On Tuesday, Viridian had set them to casting patronus's, and Blaise had been shocked when a great deal of the class were unable to. Viridian, however, seemed to have expected it. Students like Granger and Weasley, who had been able to conjure a patronus for years were among the ones who were now unable. Viridian had assigned them a two-foot essay, challenging the class to formulate the reason for why so many of them were unable to cast a patronus.

Thursday he had given each of them a heavily warded object – layers and layers of defensive spells, privacy charms, trespassing hexes – and challenged them to remove all of the wards by the end of class.

Blaise, Draco, Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, and Eleanor had been the only students able to do it in the given time. The rest of the class was given the weekend to finish the assignment. Blaise had stayed after, hoping to arrange a meeting with Viridian, but the Defense professor had merely ushered him out with the promise to keep their Sunday afternoon appointment.

The fact that Neville Longbottom had now joined their table for lunch was…well, Blaise didn't know what he thought of it. Draco made it clear that he thought Blaise had gone off the deep end by even associating with the boy, but Blaise was actually pleasantly surprised by how well Longbottom was able to join in their conversations and intellectual debates. He was no match for the other five students, but he could interject interesting points every now and then, and when they turned to matters of Herbology or Astronomy, Longbottom was easily able to converse.

Weasley, thankfully, only sat at their table once more that week, again for breakfast, and _again_ using Granger's plate as her own. Blaise despised poor table manners, and Weasley's made it seem as though she had been raised by cave trolls. Her presence did nothing to relieve the tension between Draco and Granger, either. She flirted with Draco shamelessly, and the fact that he even responded to her was driving Granger insane. Potter and the other Weasley didn't seem too pleased with their behavior either: they spent a great deal more time glaring across the hall at them, and Potter had spent the better part of Wednesday's Potions class trying to sabotage his and Draco's Potion.

Add to that the continuing mystery of Draco's stalker, Granger's still fragile – though recovering – state after confessing her father's death, and Blaise's own rather uncertain position with Viridian, and it had been a full week that he was glad to have behind him.

He had received a letter from home this morning. His father was requesting that he spend the Christmas holiday with the family in order to meet several witches his father viewed as prospective mates for his only son. Achille Zabini was aware of his Blaise's sexual preferences, but he had no intention of indulging his son. He had made it clear to Blaise that by his twenty-first birthday he was expected to have married a witch of good background and produced an heir, two if possible. After that duty was complete, Blaise was free to do as he pleased, with whomever he pleased.

The fact that Blaise's older sister, Gemma, was already married and the mother of twin boys did nothing to appease Achille. Their name and fortune had always been traced through the male line, and no amount of arguments on Blaise's part would change his mind.

It was a problem that Blaise had known he would face for the last three years, and yet he had always been positive his father would give up on him and allow Gemma's sons to inherit. His sister, too, had made it clear that she felt forcing Blaise to marry, just to have a son – when she had two – was medieval.

Family functions, as a result, were awkward at best. The thought of a parade of witches invading his life was more than enough to put him off the idea of going home for Christmas. He wondered what plausible excuse he could come up with to keep him at Hogwarts – better if he could convince Draco to spend the holiday with him. At least with Draco he would have an appreciative audience for his complaints. He wondered what Granger's holiday plans were, and if he could convince _her_ to come home with him and pose as his fiancée. It would be entertaining, if nothing else.

Blaise checked his watch and saw that it was nearly five. Draco would be heading out to the Quidditch pitch for one last practice before tomorrow's game. He wondered if he could catch Granger in the library still. Thinking about his own life could only keep him occupied for so long, and he decided to go in search of the Head Girl. She, at least, had problems that were interesting.

On his way to the library he came across Longbottom in the middle of breaking up a fight between a third year Slytherin and two older Gryffindors. Blaise paused at the end of the corridor and listened as Longbottom gave the two boys a severe dressing down.

"… younger child, on his _own_. Your behavior is an insult to your house, and an insult to the memory of everyone that died during the war. You think that Graves is in any way responsible for what happened to your sister? He's a _baby_, and he's innocent of any wrongdoing his housemates, his cousins, or his other relatives may have taken part in. Fifteen points from each of you, and if I catch you at this sort of thing again I'll report you to Professor Weasley _and_ Professor Viridian." That last threat had the two boys looking suitably terrified, and Blaise wondered how the younger years viewed the rather fierce Defense professor.

"Now get going," Longbottom gestured imperiously and the Gryffindors beat a quick retreat. Longbottom turned to the Slytherin. "Graves, I realize that you were outnumbered, but that gives no excuse to use a Dark curse. That hex you hit them with is pretty nasty. It's been known to cause permanent nerve damage. Was that your intention?"

Graves jutted his chin out, expression harsh.

"It was my intention to get them to leave me alone. They blame me for their sister, and this isn't the first time they've attacked me."

"Why didn't you go to a Prefect or your head of house?"

"I don't need to rely on others," Graves said. Blaise could see something of himself in the young boy, and he remembered his second year, when the Weasley Twins had cornered Draco and himself and cursed them with an embarrassing hex that had the Gryffindors and Slytherins alike laughing at them.

"Clearly you do. Graves, I have to take points off."

"Fine." The boy was mutinous and Blaise wondered how he and Draco had grown out of that stage of fury and distrust for anyone in a position of authority. He sighed, realizing that they hadn't grown out of it, they had just gotten better at hiding it.

"Five points, Graves. I strongly encourage you to seek out non-violent ways to resolve these kinds of conflicts."

"Tell that to your Gryffindors," Graves snarled and then stalked off.

Blaise watched as Longbottom's shoulders slumped.

"Rude little blighter," Blaise commented.

Longbottom jerked around at the sound of his voice. A faint smile spread across his face, and Blaise found himself responding to the look by walking closer.

"Rupert and Steven are… troubled kids. Their sister was an Auror, she died during the Final Battle as the Death Eaters were fleeing."

"So they take it out on younger kids? That's awfully… good of them."

Longbottom scowled.

"I really don't know what to do. This is the third time I've caught them at it – Graves isn't their only target."

"You Gryffindors really know how to project your anger onto innocent people," Blaise mused, furious that this had been happening and no one had told him. It was his house, after all, and as much as he thought the upper years could go to hell most of the time, the kids were victims and they needed protection and guidance. He realized he was starting to sound like Viridian.

"Not all of us," Longbottom argued.

"Mm. What are you up to?"

"Aside from rescuing Slytherins I had no plans for the immediate future."

"Care to walk around the lake? I've found it to be a prime spot for avoiding Gryffindors _and_ Slytherins out to cause trouble."

Longbottom looked amused.

"Excluding yourself."

"Naturally," Blaise agreed with a smirk.

"Lead on, then."

They walked in companionable silence through the halls of the castle and soon found themselves outside on the grounds, the fleeting warmth of the late September afternoon making the climate mild and pleasant.

"I heard about your Herbology apprenticeship, congratulations."

Longbottom nodded.

"Thank you. I was surprised that you declined the Transfiguration apprenticeship."

Blaise smiled tightly.

"There really is no such thing as a secret around here, is there?"

Longbottom chuckled and shook his head.

"No, I've already got an apprenticeship arranged for after my graduation, back in Italy."

"Lucky."

Blaise shrugged. He didn't consider himself to be all that lucky – granted, Master Fiorello's reputation was unmatched in the contemporary Transfiguration field. But returning to Italy meant returning to his family. And that meant…

"I wouldn't mind the chance to get away from Britain for a while," Longbottom mused.

"Oh?"

"Lot of memories. And a lot of family expectations. Now that Gran doesn't think I'm a total failure I've… got a lot to live up to."

"Carrying on the family line and making a name for yourself?"

Longbottom's expression was sour.

"Yes. Exactly." He shot Blaise a considering look. "How is it with you? I mean, does your family know?"

"Do mean are they aware that I've slept my way through most of the sixth and seventh year boys here?"

Longbottom's face was a mixture of confusion and irritation, but he nodded.

"Yes, they are aware. My father… I am to produce an heir, and then I'm free to _fuck_ whomever I want."

"Gran'd kill me if she knew."

"You faced Voldemort, Longbottom, one old woman can't be that much of a challenge anymore."

"You've never met her. Neither did Voldemort, not face to face. I think _he'd_ have been intimidated."

Blaise snorted.

"Thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."

"I'm taking you to the Halloween Ball, aren't I?" Longbottom seemed irritated.

"And how was the news of that taken?"

"It's no one else's business."

"You haven't told anyone."

"Why should I? They'll see for themselves, come Halloween. Besides, it isn't as though it will be more than the one night." This last was said quieter, and Blaise looked over at the Gryffindor.

Longbottom was staring at the lake, hands shoved in his pockets and stance wary.

"Neville, I'm… with someone."

Longbottom gave a harsh laugh.

"He already taken for the Ball, though?"

"Um, no… I can't take him."

Longbottom turned curious eyes on him, but after a moment an enlightened expression came over his face.

"Lucky bastard," he muttered.

"Thanks," Blaise said.

"I meant _him_, you idiot."

Blaise barely managed to mask his shock. He grinned.

"Don't tell me you've been lusting after me all this time, Neville."

Longbottom scowled.

"Yeah, well, I'm getting over it, don't worry." Longbottom turned and started to walk away.

Blaise frowned and reached out to stop the other boy, grabbing his arm. Longbottom looked at him, and the anger on his face faded.

Longbottom stepped closer and Blaise knew that the Gryffindor was about to kiss him. He had a second to decide what to do, and knowing he would regret it later, he closed the distance between them.

The kiss was nothing like what he had experienced with Viridian, but neither was it reminiscent of Blaise's other past encounters. Neville's lips were teasing as they caught at first his upper lip, and then latched onto his mouth. Blaise found himself responding to the kiss and opened his mouth to the other boy. Neville's tongue was just as light… testing in some way. They broke apart, Neville sucking just slightly on Blaise's lower lip before he released him.

They stood in silence, regarding each other, a new awareness between them.

Blaise shook himself and wiped a hand over his face.

"Fuck, Neville – that can't happen again." And he walked away, the temptation to turn around and kiss the other boy so great that he felt a physical _need_ to do so. He cursed himself for letting it happen – cursed Longbottom for kissing him in a way that made Blaise forget all the darkness in his life. _Fuck_, he thought again, because he had been just that stupid.

He decided to walk over to the Quidditch pitch and wait for Draco to finish his practice. The time alone, outside, would give him the chance to mentally berate himself and limit the chance he would run into Longbottom again before dinner.

Draco had them flying passes, the Beaters trying to cause interference and the Keeper practices with the reserve Keeper at one end of the pitch. Draco was flying around them with practiced ease, and Blaise had to admire the way he was running the team. He wasn't being a tyrant, but his authority over them was clear. Draco seemed more at ease out here than he had been in ages, and Blaise was grateful that he had been given the chance to captain the team. It clearly agreed with him.

Blaise took a seat on the grass near the supply box and leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him. The practice ended a few minutes later and Blaise watched as the team trooped off to the locker room, exhausted. Draco landed a few feet from him and summoned the Quaffle and Bludgers to restore them to the supply box.

"What brings you out here?"

"Oh, just wanted to get a feel for how badly we'd be crushed tomorrow. Hopeless, really."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Your constant support is all that keeps me going, you realize. I truly would be lost without you."

Blaise smirked and got to his feet. Draco levitated the supply case, hefted his broom over his shoulder, and started off towards the lockers.

"Where's Granger?" He asked.

"Library, I expect. Haven't seen her since Lunch."

"Hm."

"She was mumbling something about Krum and wedding robes… I think she went to go research pureblood marriage ceremonies."

Draco stopped short for a moment, then sent Blaise a chilling glare.

"Even Granger isn't daft enough to tie herself down to that oaf."

"Hm. Yes, I imagine it _would_ be a terribly difficult life for her. Famous, international Quidditch star husband who moved to Britain for her… intelligent, good looking, rich, and obviously smitten with her. Perhaps she'd best go back to Weasley."

A muscle in Draco's jaw jumped, but he remained silent.

They arrived at the lockers just as the rest of the team were leaving. Draco stowed the equipment and stripped off his clothes.

"Tell me again why you're taking Weasley to the Ball if it's Granger you so clearly want," he prompted.

Draco threw his uniform shirt into his locker space and turned to glare at Blaise.

"I didn't tell you, Blaise."

"Oh, must be why I can't remember."

Draco drew in a deep breath and braced himself against his locker, looking down.

"He wants me to suffer, as he suffered. He said that… my family took away everything he had ever had, and he would return the favor. The Death Eater was just one, he said, of his many _friends_ still out there."

Blaise was silent, waiting to see where this would lead.

"He's going to kill her. Said she looked so _beautiful_ under the cruciatius that he's desperate for another opportunity, and he can't wait for the Ball. Said that he'll be able to slip in and out so easily no one will even know until they find her body." Draco looked over at Blaise and his expression was tortured. "You really think I need to spend more time with her? She'll be safer with Krum, anyway."

"Draco, that's depressingly noble. Pull yourself together – where's your inner slimy, self-serving git?"

His friend snorted a laugh and shook his head.

"Creepy bastard is just out there, somewhere, and I've no fucking clue who it is. And now he's threatening _her_."

"You know, she's pretty good at taking care of herself," Blaise pointed out.

"Not much defense against an Unforgivable, Blaise."

He shrugged, acknowledging the point.

"Still, she's a nice asset to have at your back."

Draco banged his head against the open frame of his locker.

"Blaise she isn't…she's ruining me. Why can't we go back to the days when she punched me and I called her a Mudblood? So much easier."

Blaise chuckled.

"I'm sure she'd still punch you, if you wanted. You grew up, Draco. You cast off your father's shadow and you're your own man." Blaise shrugged. "Still, it wasn't sporting of her to grow up into such a beautiful witch."

Draco shook his head in agreement, sighed, and pulled on his white button-up shirt.

"Course, you two keep up this ridiculous arguing and you won't have to worry about keeping her away."

"She drives me insane. One minute I'm insulting her and the next…" Draco shook his head. "Merlin I've _cuddled_ with the girl twice – three times now. Pathetic."

Blaise could only smirk. He clapped Draco on the shoulder.

"Let's grab some dinner. It'll give you the chance to insult her again."

Draco shook his head but picked up his school bag and followed Blaise.

Blaise had to wonder at Draco's attachment to Granger – he had spent the past seven years tormenting her, and now, after a month of… pleasantries his friend was _besotted_ with her. It was a very brief time to go from one extreme emotion to another, and Blaise wondered how much of it was because of Draco's estrangement from the house, and how much was an actual attraction to Granger.

He looked over and took in Draco's still furious expression. Draco had few people show him unsolicited kindness in his life, and Blaise feared that he had latched on to the first girl not out for his money or title.

"Stop thinking about me," Draco growled. "I can look out for myself."

Blaise smirked.

"You keep telling yourself that. You know, if you want to ditch the Weasley girl, I hear Megan's still looking for a date…"

Draco glared.

"I can't believe you're going with Longbottom."

"He's a better catch than Weasley."

"No question about that."

They entered the Great Hall and Blaise was surprised to see Granger at their table, along with Stephan, Eleanor, and Longbottom. Blaise groaned and debated the merits of eating in the kitchens.

Draco gave him an amused look.

"Your date seems quite –"

"Don't say it," Blaise growled. Draco smirked but kept silent. They walked over and sat down, Draco beside Granger, and Blaise at the last open seat, beside Longbottom.

Stephan nodded a greeting at them and then went back to his conversation with Granger.

"My cousin said that the MLE has pulled most of its resources from tracking down the rogue Death Eaters. Most of the worst have been captured, and they'e still got a lot of restructuring to do."

"Restructuring how?" Granger asked. She had propped her chin up on her hand and showed no interest in her food. Blaise looked over at Draco and saw that his friend was as interested in the conversation as he was. He wondered what Granger had found out before they showed up.

"Voldemort infiltrated the Ministry to a frightening extent. Between removing Imperious's, Memory Charms, and the like, it's really cut back the number of able employees."

"Not to mention losing the employees that were actually aware of acting for Voldemort," Blaise pointed out.

Stephan nodded.

"Exactly. So the Ministry wants to move forward and put the Death Eaters behind them."

"Stupid to leave them running loose," Longbottom muttered. Blaise refused to look at him.

"What else can they do? Go house to house searching? That wouldn't exactly inspire confidence in the masses." Draco shrugged. "Still, it'd be nice for them to acknowledge that they were still out there."

Stephan sent him a piercing look.

"Just how many _are_ still out there?"

Draco went rigid and his gaze was cold as he looked at the Ravenclaw boy.

"I wouldn't know. One less, after Saturday."

Stephan looked down. Granger cleared her throat.

"Anyway, it seems like McGonagall is following party lines pretty well and doing the same as the Ministry."

Eleanor jumped in, obviously just as eager as Granger to smooth things over between Draco and Stephan.

"It's true – she even rescheduled the Hogsmeade visit for weekend after next, so that students can get their _costumes _together." It was clear that Eleanor thought little of the prospect of dressing up.

"She's going a long way to make everyone feel as though nothing happened," Granger muttered, and Blaise could tell she was about to work herself up into rant mode.

"Say – how about we head up to the common room and have a rematch for our poker game?" He suggested.

"Hermione – you taught them poker?" This was from Longbottom, and there was a note of exasperation in his voice.

Granger nodded and looked smug.

"Cleaned them out, as well."

"You didn't clean us out," Draco groused. "You just happened to win a few hands."

"You practically bankrupted the Gryffindor common room sixth year," Longbottom said.

Granger smirked, obviously enjoying her reputation as a card shark. Eleanor and Stephan looked intrigued.

"What kind of game is poker?" Stephan asked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"The kind that Granger destroys you at, apparently."

"Want to join us?" Granger asked, putting on her best innocent expression. "It's really easy to learn."

Stephan and Eleanor exchanged looks and shrugged.

"Why not? We've got nothing else planned."

"Neville, care to join us?" Granger asked, smiling brightly.

"Of course, maybe this will be my chance to win back some of all that money I lost to you."

Blaise sighed.

"Very well. I think I'll make a run to the kitchens and then join you."

"You just ate," Granger pointed out.

"True, but I came across a wine cellar the other night when I was doing patrols. I'm desperate to find out what's inside."

Granger slanted a look at Stephan and Eleanor, but both seemed intrigued by the promise of alcohol, rather than offended.

"Anyway, catch you up in a bit."

"I'll come with you," Neville immediately volunteered.

There was no way for Blaise to get out of his company without looking like a heel, so he shrugged. The Gryffindor rose from the table, and together they left the hall.

They walked down to the kitchens in silence, and Blaise was both grateful for Longbottom holding his tongue and irritated. He knew the Gryffindor wanted to say something – he would prefer that he just get it over with.

The cellar that Blaise had previously found was in an annex just off the kitchens, and Blaise made short work of the wards guarding it.

"Have you been in here before?" Longbottom asked as he cast a Lumos.

"No. I overheard the Bloody Baron talking about it. Dippet was apparently quite the collector."

"Hm. Elderberry wine… Goblin wine… there's even some Muggle stuff in here." Longbottom was surveying the bottles with a practiced ease. Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Don't tell me you're some sort of wine connoisseur?"

Longbottom looked over at him and smirked.

"Why? Would that make me even more irresistible?" Instead of waiting for a response, Longbottom turned back to the wine rack he was examining and pulled out two bottles. "These are Muggle, actually, Hermione introduced me to this particular vintner. Anything you liked?"

Blaise shook his head and grabbed two of the Goblin wines.

"Right, this should do us." He walked past Longbottom and led the way up to his common room at a pace that did not encourage conversation. Apparently, Longbottom didn't pick up on hints too well.

"You're really torn up about earlier," he said.

"I am not _torn up_. I'm over it."

"So you won't mind if I kiss you again."

"Longbottom – I'm with someone. What about that don't you understand?"

"You aren't with anyone right now. Well, not anyone but me." Longbottom was smirking and Blaise scowled.

"Gryffindors. You think everything is so simple. I'm not available."

"But you're interested." There was a certain smug tone in Longbottom's voice that drove Blaise crazy.

"It was one kiss, Longbottom, and as mind-numbly good as it was, that's all it will ever be. Get it out of your system."

Longbottom was silent until they reached the portrait.

"It was a pretty good kiss, wasn't it?"

* * *

Hermione woke up early on Saturday. She spent a few minutes setting their common room to rights – Eleanor got quite exuberant when drunk, they had learnt – and then took a long bath, enjoying a chance to relax. She had had precious little opportunity so far this semester. Yesterday had been a good day for her – the chance to spend the afternoon in the library on her own had done her good, and the poker night Blaise had implemented had been surprisingly fun. Everyone managed to stay on good terms, and Draco had managed to win almost as many hands as she did before the Ravenclaws called it a night. Neville and Draco had both stayed longer, and the competition had grown quite a bit more intense, until finally, after two in the morning, Draco had left to get a decent amount of sleep before the game. Neville had left as well, and Blaise had insisted that he and Hermione finish off the 'liberated' wine – just one bottle, fortunately – before they too went to bed.

The bath put her in a very peaceful frame of mind, and she took the time to brush and straighten her hair, pleased with the smooth fall of it around her shoulders. She looked through her wardrobe, debating whether or not to dress sensibly or… with a mental shrug of her shoulders she pulled out a short, gray skirt and a lavender blouse that she knew Ron was particularly fond of. Aware that she was dressed in very house neutral colors, Hermione was rather pleased with her appearance. She looked nice, but not as though she had spent the entire morning deciding what to wear.

She went down to breakfast and noticed that Draco was already eating.

"Good morning," she said, striving for politeness.

Draco looked up and frowned.

"You're dressed up."

"Yes, well, I'm meeting with Professor Smith later, and I heard dressing up was the thing to do."

Draco shook his head.

"How do you think you'll do today?" Hermione could have cared less about the game, but since Draco wasn't immediately jumping down her throat, as had been the case over the last few days, she was willing to make whatever conversation she could.

"I've no idea," he admitted. "I don't expect much from my team – they're young, and Potter and his lot have been together for a while now. I imagine it will come down to the Snitch."

Hermione wondered how _that _would go. Harry and Draco had not been the friendliest of competitors in the past, and things were not much better between them now.

Draco rolled his eyes at the expression on her face.

"Don't worry. I'll be on my _best_ behavior."

"That's what worries me," she shot back and he smirked.

"You're one to talk, corrupting uptight Ravenclaws and encouraging drunkenness in the Heads common room."

"I fear I've been hanging around with you and Blaise too much."

"Hm. I'm sure seven years of Potter and Weasel didn't encourage rule breaking at all."

Hermione shook her head.

"I always had to look out for them."

"They seem to be managing without you," he pointed out.

"Yes, well. I'm ever so glad."

Draco shook his head.

"Weasley's mental if she thinks taking her to the Ball is going to change Potter's mind."

"Then why are you taking her?" Even now, Draco's quick acceptance of Ginny's offer stung. Hermione wasn't exactly sure _why_ she felt she had a prior claim to the Slytherin, but she couldn't shake the jealousy that crept up on her whenever she thought about them attending the Ball together.

"Seemed rude not to, since she asked." Draco was smirking, but it was smug and irritating.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Because you care _so much_ about being rude to people."

Draco shrugged.

"Maybe I've turned over a new leaf."

"Right. I just hope you enjoy dancing with her while dodging Harry's hexes."

"I'm sure I'll manage just fine," Draco assured her. "Not as well as you and Krum, of course."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. You and Krum get on famously, so I've no doubt you'll enjoy every moment of his scintillating conversation. _Has_ he managed to learn to say your name properly yet?"

Hermione glared at him.

"He manages just fine," she assured him through gritted teeth.

"Hmm. As fascinating as it is to discuss Krum, I've got to get to the Quidditich pitch. Try not to get too emotional when Gryffindor loses."

"I won't. I'm looking forward to my team completely crushing you," she assured him.

"Of course you are." Draco turned and left without another word and Hermione stabbed her toast.

It seemed the two of them were back to being unable to have a decent conversation.

Hermione finished her breakfast hurriedly and made her way up to Professor Smith's office for her meeting.

"Enter," he called at her knock. "Good morning, Miss Granger. Please, take a seat. I will be finished with these papers in one moment." He gestured to the seating area by his fireplace and Hermione crossed over to it, taking the same chair as last time.

A few minutes later Smith joined her.

"I take it you didn't have a question about a class assignment," Smith said.

"No." Hermione smoothed down her skirt and smiled in what she hoped was a disarming way. "Actually, I wanted to discuss the first war with you."

Smith raised his eyebrows.

"As I told you before, I had little involvement in it."

"Yes, sir, I was actually more curious about, well, after. You mentioned that you started your seventh year after the fall of Voldemort. You also mentioned that many of your housemates had become Death Eaters."

Smith inclined his head, his expression closed.

"Professor Viridian has made it clear he thinks most of my year is struggling to cope with the after-effects of the war."

"Yes, he had been harping on the subject during staff meetings."

"Well, I wondered, how did students fair in your day?"

"You make me sound ancient, Miss Granger." He smiled tightly and then tilted his head. After a moment he shrugged. "It was a struggle, then as now, but I believe that many of the students were given a chance to redeem themselves, even if they had been pressured into joining Voldemort."

"What sort of chance?"

"Unless they had used an Unforgivable or participated in the killing of Muggles, they were more or less exonerated. Records were sealed at the Ministry, and people simply allowed it to pass as some youthful indiscretion. I believe the same is the standard for today."

"There aren't many books written on the subject," Hermione confessed, "so I hope I'm not prying too deeply with my questions."

Smith waived a hand. "I am always eager to accommodate the quest for knowledge. I can understand that, after Saturday's events, you have more questions than not."

Hermione bit her lip and considered the best way to ask her next question.

"Sir, did any of your peers… escape Ministry censure?"

He frowned.

"I'm sure I don't know, Miss Granger. If they did, I doubt they went about spreading that information."

"Of course. I, well, it's just disturbing that there are still so many Death Eaters out there."

"Hm. Without Voldemort, or any sort of leader, they can hardly do much damage."

Hermione did not agree with Smith's logic, especially in light of recent events.

"So, it's possible that a student who supported Voldemort, but did not commit any Unforgivables, could have continued on at Hogwarts and then secured a Ministry position."

"I suppose so," Smith agreed, but he was frowning. "What are you trying to suggest, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Oh, nothing. I was just…wondering. I've finished nearly all of the books you lent me."

"And are you still interesting in working on your transformation during the break?"

"Yes, certainly. I've been doing the meditation exercises… and running a few Arithmatic calculations."

"I would expect no less of you."

"Most of it suggests that I am closely aligned with animals that fly. Which is ironic, considering my fear of flying."

"That is interesting. However, you must have some fascination for winged creatures, some sympathy that creates the connection."

"That's true. I've always admired falcons. My father was a bird-watcher, and we spend a great deal of time searching for interesting species of birds on our family vacations." Hermione managed to keep her voice even, and forced herself not to follow the logical train of thought that memory brought up.

"That makes a great deal of sense."

"May I ask… what is your form?"

Smith smiled and then stood.

"Allow me to show you."

He closed his eyes, and a moment later his body shifted, growing smaller and furrier.

"A hare." Hermione smiled, amused at the rather diminutive creature. Smith transformed back into his human form.

"A very useful form, though not terribly exciting," he said."Now, Miss Granger, I believe the Quidditch match will start shortly. I trust you planned to attend?"

"Yes, of course." Hermione stood.

"Miss Granger, if you find yourself still curious about the fate of potentially Dark wizards, I would direct you to speak with Professor Prince."

Hermione frowned and then acknowledge his point – as Snape's cousin and a close correspondent, Prince probably did know more than Smith. Still, she felt that Smith did know more than he was telling her, and wondered if he were somehow protecting his old schoolmates.

"Of course, I'm sorry if any of my questions offended you."

"Not in the least. I just find that my knowledge on the subject is rather limited. Shall we?" Smith gestured for them to leave his office.

Hermione walked with the professor down to the Quidditch pitch.

"I am glad that you came to no lasting harm last Saturday," Smith said.

"As am I. Draco and I were… lucky." She did not feel that way, but it seemed the most politic thing to say.

"You were also well prepared, and quite experienced." Smith paused. "The Headmistress is very pleased to have Viktor Krum escorting you to the Halloween Ball."

"Honestly, does everyone know?"

"She feels that it is an opportune moment for positive press – an international Quidditch star visiting the school is far more comforting than hearing that two students were attacked by Death Eaters. Many parents are still uneasy about their students attending a school so recently devastated. It is difficult to trust again, after the loss of so many."

"Yes, I imagine it is." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "I still don't think it's a good idea, allowing just anyone to attend."

"Mr. Krum is certainly not just anyone. Especially to you." Hermione frowned.

"He is an old friend," Hermione admitted.

"Nothing more?"

Hermione looked over at Smith and saw that he was actually… interested.

"No," she said.

Smith nodded.

"I imagine that, at your age, such attachments are unwanted. After all, you have a bright future ahead of you."

"I wouldn't view it as a hindrance. I just don't see Viktor that way."

They arrived at the pitch and Smith turned to her.

"Enjoy the game Miss Granger. I shall look forward to discussing your progress next week?"

Hermione nodded and watched as he made his way to the teacher's box. She was baffled by their conversation. Smith seemed to have little interest in the personal lives of his students, and did not strike Hermione as the type to indulge in gossip. As confused as she was about that, she was also unsatisfied with his responses to her earlier questions. Now, more than ever, she wished she could speak with Snape's portrait.

She joined Neville in the Gryffindor box and smiled at him. It was obvious that he was attracted to Blaise, and Hermione couldn't help but think that the Slytherin returned his interest.

"Hello," she greeted him.

"Morning. Still gloating after last night?"

She shook her head.

"You played well. I think you boys are starting to get the hang of it."

"It's impossible to get a read on those two, though. I've no idea when they're bluffing."

"And you've got me figured out?"

Neville smiled.

"I think so – you wrinkle your nose, just a little, when you don't like the cards you've been dealt. Of course, half the time you can still turn them into a winning hand, so it isn't that helpful."

Hermione laughed and nudged his shoulder.

"You're pretty good at keeping a straight face, yourself."

"Thanks for inviting me, last night."

"Of course, Neville. You're always welcome."

"I appreciate it. I… feel bad for the falling out you've had with Ron and Harry."

Hermione shrugged.

"They're being stubborn about Draco. They think he hasn't changed…"

"He has, at least where you're concerned. He's still a bit of an arrogant git," Neville said with a grin, "but it's obvious he's changed his opinion on blood status, and the Dark arts, for that matter. You two get on really well." Neville was looking at her closely and Hermione blushed.

"Sometimes. Not lately, I'm afraid."

Neville nodded and looked to the pitch as the two teams took to the field.

"Well, you seem happier, with them."

"I wouldn't say that. I just… it's nice to talk about something besides Quidditch." She smiled at Neville and he grinned back.

"What? You aren't on the edge of your seat to hear every single detail of every game plan Ron's come up with? It's the only thing that keeps me going."

Hermione shook her head and looked at the players. Harry and Draco were flying high above the rest of the pitch in long, lazy loops while the other players simply hovered in their starting positions.

There was a hush of silence, and then the balls were released. There was a mad dive as the Chasers angled for the Quaffle and the Beaters chased after the Bludgers. Hermione watched for five minutes and then lost all interest.

She pulled out the book Viktor had sent her on blood magic and started reading.

It was nearly two hours later when Neville nudged her shoulder.

"Looks like they're going for the Snitch."

Hermione looked up, and indeed, both Harry and Draco were in hot pursuit of what, from this distance, appeared to be an invisible object.

"What's the score?" She asked.

"Slytherin has ninety-points, Gryffindor has one-hundred and ten."

It was a closer game than Hermione had thought it would be. She watched as the two Seekers battled each other for the lead in their chase. Suddenly, Draco jerked his broom in a different direction. Harry followed, but it had been a feint, and Draco was now flying below the Gryffindor and seemed to be close to capturing the Snitch. Harry dove downwards, nearly colliding with Draco, and the Slytherin had to come to a near complete stop to avoid getting thrown from his broom. They appeared to be engaged in a shouting match, as Draco got back to speed, but the Snitch had been lost.

"Well, that was exciting," Hermione commented before going back to her book. She truly did not understand the appeal of Quidditch. Unless the teams were vastly unmatched and one outscored the other by more than one-hundred and fifty points, the contest was decided by the two Seekers. While she did find the frenzied chase for the Snitch interesting, the overall unbalanced nature of the game kept her from becoming very engaged.

"Let me know if they try to kill each other," Hermione told Neville.

"Will do," he agreed, and Hermione returned to her book.

* * *

The weather was starting to turn: the wind was picking up and Draco could feel the sting of rain as he dove towards the pitch again, hoping to throw off Potter.

The other Seeker didn't fall for it, and instead veered off in a separate direction to hunt for the Snitch.

During their first chase for the golden ball, Potter's team had been sufficiently distracted that Slytherin had scored another goal, and even now Slytherin was in possession of the Quaffle again. Draco was impressed that his team was able to keep the game as close as they had, but it was only a matter of time before he and Potter decided the outcome of the game.

Draco circled above the pitch, examining the sky. His gaze was drawn over to the Gryffindor box, and he wished he was close enough to see Granger. If she had even bothered to come to the game. He shook his head and forced his thoughts away from her.

He flew closer to the pitch and - there it was. A flash of gold against the darkening sky. He turned his broom and dove for it. Wind rushed past his face, stealing his breath and whipping at his clothes. He pushed forward, urging more speed out of his broom.

He saw Potter out of the corner of his eye as the Gryffindor Seeker joined in. Potter closed in on his trajectory in a matter of seconds, and they were neck and neck again as they sped towards the Snitch.

Draco angled under Potter, since it had worked so well before, but Potter immediately juked his broom downward. Draco took advantage of the maneuver and propelled himself just ahead of Potter. The Snitch was so close he could hear the rapid beat of its wings, and he reached out.

Potter crashed into his side, momentarily throwing Draco. He pushed back against the other boy, satisfied when Potter swore and had to scramble to remain seated on his broom.

Draco edged forward on his broom, shifting his weight into the dive. The Snitch was so close. He reached out, felt the flutter of wings against his palm and then –

Pain. Sharp and excruciating shot down his arm and to his brain, searing every nerve ending along the way. He swallowed the scream in his throat and gritted his teeth against the pain that was more brutal than cruciatius.

Draco jerked away from the Snitch, letting it escape his loose grasp.

Potter was instantly surging forward.

"No! Don't touch it!"

Potter ignored him and reached out for the Snitch, still just in front of their brooms.

Draco acted without thinking. He dove off of his broom and tackled Potter, sending them both hurtling to the ground.

"Malfoy!" Potter was enraged, and he pushed at Draco, sending the blonde careening off on his own.

The ground was approaching at an alarming rate, and Draco managed to cast a wandless cushioning charm at the last second. His control was off, however. He landed hard on the charm, then bounced into the air and fell again, crashing into the ground as the charm dissipated. He felt more than heard the crunch of bone in his right leg.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. Mud squelched under his body and Draco grimaced. He sat up, ignoring the pain in his leg, and surveyed the ground for Potter.

The Gryffindor was laying a few feet away, and he wasn't moving. Draco dragged himself over, wondering where the hell the Professors were when it was clear that the two of them were injured.

"Potter!" He screamed in the other boy's face and jerked his collar.

Green eyes opened and focused on Draco. There was a great deal of anger in those eyes. Draco dropped Potter back to the ground, but Potter threw himself at Draco, swinging his left arm forward and catching Draco's jaw.

"What the _fuck_?" Draco shoved Potter away.

"You son of a bitch! You could have killed us!" Potter was back, and he gripped Draco's uniform jersey as he punched him again, catching him square on the nose.

"That's it, Potter!" Draco didn't bother to shove him away. He landed a punch of his own, catching Potter in the gut. The other boy fell off of him with a grunt and Draco felt his nose. His hands came away bloody.

"You stupid –"

"Potter! Malfoy!"

Draco looked up at the sound of Viridian's harsh voice. Bill Weasley was hot on his heels, looking more furious than Draco had ever seen the man. Viridian didn't look too happy either.

"Foul, Mr. Malfoy. And detention. You could have killed Potter, not to mention yourself. It's a stupid _game_ –"

"The Snitch is cursed!" Malfoy shouted over his head of house.

Viridian was momentarily taken aback.

"You were going to lose and you couldn't stand it!" Potter shouted at him.

Draco rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor.

"I couldn't stand the fucking pain from touching the thing is what I couldn't stand. And for some idiotic reason I tried to save your life." Draco sneered. "The urge has passed, I assure you. Go ahead back up there and try to catch the damn thing. You're welcome to it."

Weasley was scowling as he approached.

"How do you know it was cursed?"

"Because I felt the damn thing. It was in my hand." Draco shook his head. "Someone tampered with it."

Viridian and Weasley exchanged looks. After a moment Weasley pulled out his wand and cast a summoning charm.

The Snitch zoomed towards them, and Draco couldn't help but flinch as it swept past him. Potter was scowling, arms crossed. He was on his feet, and appeared completely unharmed. Of course Potter would escape without breaking anything, Draco mused, while he was facing yet another stay in the infirmary.

"Don't touch it," he warned as Weasley approached the object hovering in front of him.

Viridian passed a hand close by the golden orb and he swore.

"That thing has more dark enchantments on it than the Dark Lord's underwear," Viridian spoke in a low voice, but it nevertheless carried.

Draco choked on a laugh, and even Weasley looked amused.

Viridian looked over at him.

"You did well to let this go. It's got several layers on it – the first is a modified trespassing curse: it's designed to cause immense pain. Under that there's a few other nasty dark hexes – but if you'd held onto this long enough it would have killed you. There's a blood-boiling curse and an evaporation charm at its center."

"It would have drained my body of blood," Draco said.

"More or less," Viridian agreed. He turned to Weasley. "Can you see to the disposal of this?"

Weasley looked surprised but nodded.

"Certainly," he said and set about casting a series of wards around the Snitch before reaching out to take it.

Viridian cast a Sonorus.

"The game has been called on account of the weather." There was a groan of disbelief from the crowd and Draco rolled his eyes. Quidditch had been played in gale force winds, a bit of rain was nothing, really. "For now, the game will be marked as a tie. In the event that Gryffindor and Slytherin are tied at the end of the season, the game will be replayed."

"But we were winning!" Potter was back to looking furious.

Viridian shot him a scathing glare.

"Mr. Potter, your life was just saved by Mr. Malfoy, who, I should point out, was very obviously in possession of the Snitch before he released it. We can certainly consult a rulebook, but I do not think there is a minimum time that the Seeker need possess the Snitch in order to win."

"But he let it go!"

"It would have killed him, and you." Viridian was clearly on the verge of losing his temper.

Potter snarled.

"Probably put it on there himself."

Viridian turned away from the Gryffindor, and the look on his face was enough to have Draco feeling intimidated. Viridian looked at him.

"Fifty points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for selflessly risking your life to save another student's. However, as that is behavior unbecoming a Slytherin, I encourage you not to do it again. That is twice in as many weeks that you have put yourself at risk for Gryffindors."

Draco managed a weak sneer.

"They do seem to need rather a lot of saving," he said. Potter looked ready to attack him again. "Sir, if I may be excused?"

Viridian looked over his shoulder at the students rushing the field. The two teams had landed behind him, and everyone looked anxious for the real explanation for why the game was called.

"As you were," Viridian said, and the students started to disperse, grumbling amongst themselves. Draco was amused to see that Granger and Blaise weren't budging.

"It appears that Draco is injured," Granger said when Viridian directed his glare in her direction. "He obviously needs an escort to the infirmary."

Viridian rolled his eyes and stalked off, abandoning Draco to the tender mercy of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, with only Granger and Blaise for backup.

Blaise reached out a hand to Draco, and the blonde accepted it and stood, muttering a curse as he put weight on his leg.

"What the hell happened?" Ron Weasley demanded, stepping forward and looking ready to kill Draco.

Draco debated shooting off a glib reply, but the look of panic on Granger's face stopped him.

"The Snitch was cursed. Potter wouldn't listen to me when I told him to leave it." Draco glared at the still furious Gryffindor. "So I knocked him off his broom." Draco delivered a mocking half bow. "Forgive me for saving his life. It won't happen again."

Weasley opened his mouth, no doubt prepared to deliver a scathing remark of his own, but he was stopped short when his sister rushed past and threw herself at Draco.

He stumbled back and didn't bother to hide his discomfort as she hugged him and then kissed his cheek. She pulled away and smiled.

"Thank you, Draco. That's two of my friends you've saved now." She winked. "I knew you weren't irredeemable."

Weasley looked sick at the sight of his sister clinging to Draco, and Granger looked ready to cast an Unforgivable. Draco pulled her off of him.

"It was no trouble," he assured her. He wondered how ridiculous he looked – standing on a broken leg, blood streaming down his face from his broken nose, half his body covered in mud.

Weasley looked torn, but he eventually stepped forward and held out a hand.

"Thank you. That was decent of you."

Draco stared at the proffered hand for a full minute before he shook it with his own.

Weasley broke the contact as soon as he could and stepped back. Potter was still looking mulish, Ginny was still looking flirty, and Granger was actually crying at the sight of her former boyfriend shaking his hand. She rushed over and threw her arms around Weasley. The red head looked momentarily stunned, but then he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

"I told you he changed," Draco could hear her saying.

Weasley scowled.

"Well, once again, you were right."

Granger pulled back from him and then kissed him.

"Thank you, Ron."

Weasley looked ready to kiss her back, but Granger pulled free and turned to Draco, smiling brightly despite the glare he turned on her.

"Shall we make a trip to the infirmary?" She suggested.

"Why not, it's been a week since my last visit. I'm sure Pomfrey's just dying to have me back." After a moment's hesitation, Draco put an arm around Blaise's shoulders and allowed his friend to help him walk back to the castle. Granger fell in step beside them.

"I _told_ you I'd be on my best behavior," Draco said as they walked.

Granger laughed.

"If I'd known that meant you'd go all Gryffindor and sacrifice yourself for Harry, I might not have encouraged you."

Draco raised his chin.

"I can be noble if I like. Besides, if I hadn't saved Potter I'd have been blamed for the Snitch. I was only looking out for myself."

"There's the inner slimy git," Blaise said from his other side.

Granger shook her head and then sobered.

"Draco – I have this strange feeling that that was a message from your secret admirer."

"You think?"

"I thought he wanted to torture you a bit, though. Looks like he could have ended the game with this Snitch." Blaise was thoughtful.

Draco nodded. "I know. It… doesn't seem to make since. I can't think of anyone else out to get me, though. Unless perhaps Megan Jones _has_ given up and wants to exact revenge for my breaking her heart."

"Draco, I think we need to have a conversation with Professor Snape."

"Well, I think the time for that has rather passed us by, Granger."

She rolled her eyes.

"With his portrait."

"His portrait in McGonagall's office?"

She nodded.

"You want us to break into McGonagall's office?"

She nodded again.

Draco looked over at Blaise.

"Don't look at me. She came up with this all on her own."

"Look, I've already got it planned out. Actually, what happened today was perfect."

"Yes, I agree. Never a good day unless I've broken something and need medical attention."

She glared at him.

"I _meant_ it's perfect that Ron's willing to give you a chance, and that he's talking to me again. Now we just need to convince him to borrow Harry's invisibility cloak…" she trailed off, clearly deep in planning mode.

Blaise was smirking beside him.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"I think you've just been made into one of her projects," the dark haired Slytherin said. "What's more, I think you _like_ it."

Draco scowled at him and glared over at Granger. She had a look of single-minded concentration on her face, and Draco was confident she would walk into a wall without blinking. He rolled his eyes, but was forced to admit: having Granger go into crusade mode over him wasn't the worst thing that had happened to him. Not by a lot.

* * *

Sorry, a lot of Blaise that time around - but we're going to focus back in on Hermione and Draco, never fear.


	12. Chapter 12

As always, thank you to the folks who take the time to review!

Another Chance

Chapter Twelve

It was Wednesday before Hermione had the chance to speak to Ron alone. He was on his way up to the Gryffindor common room after practice, Harry and Ginny apparently having gone straight to dinner while he took the opportunity to change out of his sweaty clothes.

"Ron," he looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled.

"Hey, Hermione. I… haven't seen much of you."

"I know. I just… Harry's being an arse."

Ron chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her hair, and the familiarity of the gesture had Hermione leaning back against him.

"He'll come around, eventually. I mean – it's pretty tough to see Malfoy as anything but an evil git."

"He's still a git," Hermione confided and Ron chuckled again. "Just not an evil one."

"If he's still a git, why do you bother with him?"

Hermione shrugged.

"He's funny, and smart." And he knew that she had killed her father and _still_ liked her.

"And charming and rich, again." Ron sounded bitter.

"I'm not dating him, Ron, I'm just his friend."

Ron snorted and shook his head.

"Right – um, I'm willing to admit he's not the source of all evil, but let's not talk about him?"

"Okay, that sounds fair." Ron led her into the common room and up to his room. "How has school been going?"

Ron shook his head.

"You never change, you know."

"Sorry if I'm so predictable. What else are we supposed to talk about?"

"I hear Krum's taking you to Halloween Ball."

"Yes, that seems like a really safe subject." She shot him a look and he shrugged. Hermione sat on his bed and waited while he changed out of his Quidditch uniform and back into his school uniform.

"Good point. Well… what should we talk about?" Ron looked over at her as he pulled on his sweater.

"Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about… well, how are you getting on these days?"

Ron looked momentarily panicked.

"You mean with Lavender?"

"No. I really don't care about _her_. I meant… do you still have trouble sleeping?"

Ron's face darkened and he shrugged one shoulder.

"Me too," she confessed.

"I think about Fred all the time. I just – I'll see some kids pulling a prank, and all I can think of is..." Ron stopped and Hermione watched as his throat worked. He shook his head. "Just seems that there's so much not right, even with Voldemort dead."

Hermione stood up and crossed over to him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. After a moment he hugged her back.

"Mum is completely shattered. Thank Merlin Bill moved back. But Mum and Fleur still don't get along…it's not the same."

"I know." Hermione whispered, thinking of her own family. The one she had destroyed. She closed her eyes and forced herself not to think about it.

"How is Harry?" She asked after a moment

Ron pulled away and shook his head.

"Not good. Remember that trial Viridian put us through? He had to face himself."

"Himself?"

Ron nodded. "Himself as a Dark wizard. He lost. It really shook him up. And he's not really been the same since Narcissa Malfoy came by the house that day."

Hermione nodded, acknowledging the truth in this.

"I worry about him. I worry about you. All of us, really. Professor Viridian is convinced we're all on the edge of going Dark."

Ron snorted a laugh.

"Can't really blame him. There've been more fights this year than in a long time." Ron ran a hand through his hair and looked down at her. "Just seems like things weren't set to rights, you know? As if it just ended… and now we just keep going as we were, just…without Voldemort. It makes everything seem kind of faded."

Hermione nodded, understanding him perfectly.

"I've missed talking to you," he confessed and Hermione smiled. She too, had missed talking to Ron. When he could pull himself off the topic of Quidditch, that is.

Ron leaned his forehead against hers and cradled her head in his hands.

"Why can't things be like this between us? Hermione – you know I love you."

"Ron. I love you too, but…we're friends. Best friends. Nothing more." She reached up and brushed his hair behind his ear. "Besides, you've _Lavender_ now."

Ron's face soured and he pulled away.

"She's not you. I mean, she's enthusiastic, but – Hermione, I'm sorry about the things I said to you. I was angry and I always feel like I'm not enough for you."

"Ron, don't say that! You're wonderful. I just…we're not right for each other. We want different things from life. But I want you to be happy, Ron, more than anything else. Can't you see that we'd be miserable together?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck and smirked a bit.

"It has been nice not having you tell me what to do," he said.

She punched him and he laughed.

"See – that's why Malfoy keeps you around, he _likes_ the abuse. Me, on the other hand, I'd rather just kiss you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sat back down on his bed. He looked at her strangely for a moment and then sat beside her.

"Alright, I recognize that look. You're planning something."

"You know me so well."

"I practically grew up with you."

"It's about Draco."

"I still can't believe you're calling him _Draco_. Does he call you Hermione?"

"No, of course not."

Ron raised his eyebrows at her dismissive tone.

"It'd be awfully strange, wouldn't it?" She said, but she wondered why he didn't call her by her given name. It did seem a bit odd. He had slept with her, after all – three times.

"That's not the point," she hurried to say before she got sidetracked. "The point is… Malfoy's father was murdered."

"I know, everyone knows. And now the git has his money and title back."

"Yes, well, the _git_ has also had his life threatened. Lucius' murderer started sending notes a few weeks ago. He plans on killing Draco. He claims that the Malfoy line has destroyed his life, and his family, and he wants revenge."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Can't say I blame him."

Hermione elbowed him and he cried out in pain.

"He sent that Death Eater into Hogsmeade to kill Draco. And we think he cursed the Snitch. And… he's made plans to attack Draco during the Halloween Ball."

"Well, that'll make it a whole lot more interesting."

He subsided at Hermione's glare.

"But he doesn't deserve to be murdered," Ron said. "Especially not if you or Harry keep getting hurt when these attempts are made."

"Not exactly what I'd hoped you would say, but at least you mean it. So…we think it's a Death Eater. No one really knows how many are still out there." Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione continued over him. "Draco's already made a list of the ones _he_ knows about – none of them have the power or the brains to be capable of organizing something like this. Really, it's only the lower ranking Death Eaters that managed to escape, most of them Voldemort trusted less than he did Draco."

"Huh. I'm sensing a request for help in the near future, but I'm not sure how I can."

Hermione smiled.

"I need to speak with Professor Snape – Draco and I both."

"Er… his portrait, in McGonagall's office?"

Hermione nodded.

"Have you asked her?"

She gave him an exasperated look.

"McGonagall's convinced that I'm a thrill seeker out to create some conspiracy theory – which I'm not, so don't even _think_ it, Ron Weasley."

He looked suitably abashed and remained silent.

"I need to sneak in."

"To the Headmistress's office? Hermione, you've gone mental. Hanging out with Slytherins has clearly ruined you."

"No, hanging about with you and Harry ruined me long ago. But I'm serious."

"So you need the Invisibility Cloak."

She nodded.

"And you need me to get it from Harry, because he'd sooner burn it than let Malfoy use it. And you need a distraction to keep McGonagall out of her office long enough for you to have a nice chat with Snape."

Hermione nodded again.

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, that's easy – why didn't you just come out and say it? When did you want to set this brilliant plan of yours into motion?"

"Friday night. Blaise is working on the distraction – but he could use your help."

Ron looked skeptical.

"It involves terrorizing Slytherins?" She offered.

"Alright, I'm in. We'll need to keep Harry occupied or… or I'll ask him if I can borrow the cloak for Thursday night, and just forget to give it back to him Friday."

Hermione reached over and hugged him.

"Thank you Ron."

He patted her arm.

"You know I can't deny you."

Hermione knew very well that he could – considering the past few weeks. But if he wanted to put it behind them, she would let it drop. She was too happy to be speaking with him again to want to argue already.

"Shall we go down to dinner?" She suggested and stood up.

Ron nodded and followed her from his room. They walked down to the Great Hall, and Hermione felt a sense of nostalgia come over her as Ron complained about Potions and asked her a question about their Charms homework.

When they entered the Great Hall Ron paused and turned to her.

"Want to eat with us?" He offered hopefully, but the look on his face made it clear he knew what her answer would be.

"Maybe some other time." She smiled apologetically, but he hugged her again and then went to join his friends – her friends, once upon a time – and she took her usual seat beside Draco.

"That looked cozy," he grumbled.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Friendly would be a better term." She looked over at Blaise, but the Slytherin merely shook his head.

Hermione leaned closer to Draco.

"He's going to get us the Invisibility Cloak for Friday."

"Wonderful. I still don't see the point of this excursion," Draco muttered back.

"We've got to go to the library and finish a project," Eleanor said across the table.

Hermione looked up and waved good-bye as the two Ravenclaws left. She realized then that dinner was nearly over.

"Because you don't have any clue who wants to kill you, and Snape probably _does_ know." She said once they were alone with Blaise.

"Or I could ask Prince if he knew why a rogue group of Death Eaters might want to kill you," she said when he still looked uncertain.

"We don't know it's a group, Granger."

"It was at least two," she pointed out.

"Fine. We'll go and talk to the portrait, but I still think it's a great way to get McGonagall to expel me."

Blaise smirked.

"Don't worry about it. I've got an excellent plan for keeping her occupied."

"Please tell me it doesn't involve any of you're remarkable _liaising_ skills," Draco muttered.

Blaise shuddered.

"No, sorry, you're not _that_ important to me." Blaise checked his watch. "Speaking of, I've got to go do some liaising right now. I'll catch you two up later." He offered his trademark, two-finger salute and then headed off.

Draco watched as Hermione ate, a troubled expression on his face.

"What?" She asked eventually.

"You and Weasley are back on decent terms."

Hermione nodded at this statement of the obvious.

"And the other Weasley…"

"You mean your lucky date for the Halloween Ball."

"Right, that one. And Longbottom still likes you."

"Do you have a point?"

"Why aren't you back to being chummy with them?"

She stopped eating and looked up at him. He looked genuinely confused, though he was hiding it behind his usual mask of slight boredom and disdain.

"Draco – why would I?"

He frowned, as if the answer was obvious.

"They're my friends, and Ron's my best friend. Having him back is…it's wonderful. But things aren't the same as they used to be." She sighed. "For one thing, there's this big, dark secret I've got." She gave him an earnest look and he nodded. "And the fact is – I still can't believe you and Blaise don't hate me for it. I'll never understand how the two of you can just… take it in stride and actually seem to still care about me."

"We're very good actors," Draco pointed out drolly.

"Yes, that's probably it. My point is – you know that about me. You know what I've done. And you still… you still accept me."

"Weasley's been in love with you for years, Granger. I think he'll forgive you for it. It _was_ an accident."

"I still killed him!"

"I'm not having this debate with you again. You didn't act with ill intent. You aren't a murderer. You just fucked up. And you have to deal with it – and ignoring it isn't dealing with it, by the way." He gave her a hard look, and Hermione realized she had been caught. She _had_ been trying to ignore it, to bury it back down. It was both harder and easier to do now that Draco and Blaise knew.

"Maybe," she allowed. "But even so – I've told you before. I enjoy your perfectly crafted insults too much."

Draco smirked at that response.

"Admit it, you're in love with me."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh yes, with the passion of a thousand suns. I want you, I _need_ you."

"I knew it," Draco said with a smug look.

"Anyway, you're stuck with me, Draco. Get used to it."

The blonde waited for her to finish her meal before he rose from the table.

"Where are you off to?" He asked.

"Homework, as usual. Don't even think of persuading me to put it off for a poker rematch."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Want company?"

"Only if you promise not to start another argument about how uptight I am."

"I'm afraid I can't make any promises. But I'll try."

"Alright. But you have to look over a proof for me. I know something's wrong with it, but I can't figure it out."

"Hermione Granger asking me for help with her homework? I never thought this day would come."

She rolled her eyes but found herself smiling. Draco went down to the Dungeons to grab his schoolwork and Hermione went ahead to her common room. By the time Draco joined her she was engrossed in her Runes translation, and barely acknowledged him.

Draco sat down beside her on the couch, as had become his custom, and a moment later Hermione passed him the Arithmancy proof.

"Here – I think it's something to do with the fourth principle, but it _makes sense_. I just don't get it." Draco took the parchment from her and she returned to her work.

A moment later, Draco pulled her left leg up from the floor and onto his lap.

She looked over at him as he took off her sock.

"Draco – what are you doing?"

"Hm?" He looked up from reading her proof, a look of patently false innocence on his face.

"My foot is in your lap."

"So it is," he agreed and went back to reading. Hermione frowned and then gasped as he started to massage her foot. Draco smirked, but continued to read.

"Draco –"

"Granger, stop distracting me. If you want my help with your proof, you'd better let me read it in peace."

Hermione stared at him for a full minute before returning to her work. It was incredibly difficult to do, considering that Draco was massaging her foot so well she was convinced he had spent the summer learning to become a masseur.

She managed not to completely melt, but several times he hit particularly sensitive spots and Hermione couldn't help but moan at the sheer pleasure of it. She hadn't had a foot massage since before her fifth year, when her mother had decided to take her away from a spa weekend. Her memories of that massage were foggy, but she was positive that Draco was using Dark magic it felt so good.

"Other foot," he said after an interminable amount of time.

Hermione complied without complaint, drawing her left leg out of his lap and under her right leg.

"It's the third principle," he said a few minutes later.

Hermione had finished her Rune translation and had moved on to an essay for Defense, but she put it aside and took the proof back from him.

"No it isn't, that line is fine."

"No, it's not," he insisted. "Look, you're postulating an equation for the outcome of a Quidditch game, and you're factoring in the location – time of day, etc. – on your first line. On your second you're theorizing the length of the event. But the third line is the weather – you're giving that emphasis over your fourth line, which is the human involvement."

She frowned.

"But the smaller the interference, the later in the equation the principle should be involved."

"Which is why weather needs to come after."

"But the weather is a greater quantity. It's not controllable."

"Neither are human actions," he pointed out, applying pressure on a very sensitive spot.

"Mmmhm."

Draco smirked.

"Exactly."

"I wasn't agreeing with you," she said. "That just felt really, really good."

He was looking very smug now and she regretted complimenting him. Until he did it again. Hermione closed her eyes.

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

"The Dark Lord was very fond of foot massages just before he tortured Muggles. As the youngest of his followers, it was my duty to see to his needs."

Hermione's eyes flew open and she looked at Draco – only to see him still smirking.

"I don't know why I believe a word you say," she muttered as she took her proof back again and started to rewrite it. And – damn him, now that she had switched the lines it _did_ produce a result.

"Well?" He prompted, still smug.

"Well you were right," she grumbled.

"I know."

Behind them the portrait opened and Blaise walked in. He passed by them, then stopped and turned. He took in their seating arrangement with a strangely blank expression on his face.

"Don't mind me," he said. "I'm grabbing my cloak before I go out to do rounds with Neville." He disappeared into his room and then came out a moment later. He looked at them again, shook his head, and left.

"I think we've traumatized him," Hermione said once he'd gone.

Draco nodded, expression somber.

"Good thing he's got Longbottom to comfort him."

Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"I wonder how things went with Professor Viridian."

"Well, Blaise looked more smug than usual Sunday, so it can't have gone badly."

"Hm." Hermione leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes again, enjoying the feel of Draco's hands and just wanting to take a moment to relax.

"I'm glad you didn't die Saturday," she mused. "Else I never would have gotten this treat."

"So happy to oblige you, Granger."

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Why don't you call me Hermione?"

He frowned and worked his way up to her ankle.

"I like calling you Granger," he said, sounding thoughtful. "Hermione seems…very intimate."

He looked over at her, and his eyes were dark with an emotion that made Hermione's breath catch. His fingers ghosted up her calf. He dragged his nails over her skin and Hermione drew in a sharp breath.

"Draco, that's not my foot."

He looked down, and pretended to realize where his hand was.

"So it isn't," he agreed, and guided his hand over her knee.

"Draco –" Hermione felt a flutter of fear and anticipation in her stomach.

He smirked, and just when his hand reached the hem of her skirt he drew it back to the underside of her knee and _tickled_ her.

She screeched and tried to pull away, but he locked one arm around her and attacked her stomach next, fingers scratching at her sides.

Hermione started to cry and found she was laughing too hard to breath, much less put up a decent struggle. She pushed at his hands, but he caught them and held them above her head and angled his body over hers. He smirked down at her.

"Granger, you do realize that being ticklish is a terrible weakness."

"Really? Voldemort as found of tickling spells as he was of foot massages?"

Draco nodded, expression serious.

"It's a good thing you were never brought before him. You'd have been spilling every secret you knew in a matter of seconds." He reached back down to her side and tickled her again, as if to demonstrate his point.

Hermione shied away, but she really was trapped. She laughed helplessly.

"And I suppose you're immune to being tickled?" She said once she could breathe again.

"Of course. All Malfoy's are, it's part of our superior genetic make-up."

Hermione rolled her eyes at that.

Draco was staring at her again, and his expression was unreadable.

"Comfortable?" She asked after another moment of silence.

Draco made a hum of contentment, and Hermione wondered just how long he intended to stare at her.

"Granger, you know your eyes are the same color as freshly minted knuts."

Hermione choked on a laugh.

"No, I wasn't aware."

"Hm, they are." He seemed very earnest as he studied her and Hermione wondered just what he saw – aside from her color-of-money-eyes. She thought of an F. Scott Fitzgerald book she had once read, and then smiled and made a mental note to order the book for Draco. She thought he would appreciate it.

"Shame they aren't the color of Galleons," she joked.

"No, they're fine just as they are," he assured her.

Hermione swallowed. She knew that she and Draco had moved beyond the bounds of a normal friendship, but she was unsure of what exactly was between them. His close scrutiny of her made her wonder just what Draco thought of their relationship.

"You're thinking too hard," he admonished.

"You're staring at me. It makes me think."

He smirked and released her hands, propping himself up on one elbow and continuing to stare at her.

"Think of what?" He asked.

"You." He was back to looking smug. "Us. This…you know, this isn't how I spent my time with Ron and Harry."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Well, not with Harry, anyway. Or with Ron, for that matter –we – I don't want to talk about it. I just don't really understand what's going on with us."

Draco reached out and started to play with one of her curls.

"Like that – the touching. And the sleeping together."

"If you don't like it –"

"I _do_ like it, which you very well know. But, I mean, you're Draco Malfoy. And we're practically cuddling."

Draco smirked.

"Your point?"

"Why? Why are you cuddling with _me_?"

"Because I want to," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Then why aren't you taking me to the Ball?"

He frowned.

"You already have a date."

"You didn't know that at the time. Is this some hang-up you've got – cuddle with me in private but I can't be your date for the Ball?"

"I don't really follow your logic. I eat every meal with you, in public, I might add."

"But that's – do you even _want_ to be with me?"

"Of course I do, but it's not –" Draco caught himself and his expression turned dark.

"Not what, Draco?" Hermione sat up, forcing off of her. He sat down in his original seat.

"Draco? Not what?"

"Granger –"

"Draco."

"It's not safe, Granger. I'm not just going to parade you around as a target for _him_."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"What are you talking about?"

"Him. Lucius' murderer." Draco ran a hand through his hair. "He wants to torture you again."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"When did – you've known about this for a week and you're just now telling me?"

"I was protecting you! For fuck's sake, he wants to crucio you at the Ball. I'm not going to let that happen."

"What about me? Didn't I have a right to know your stalker was out to get me too?"

"Granger –"

"I can take care of myself, Malfoy. I've been doing it for years – against you – and against Death Eaters a lot more intimidating than Rowle was. You really didn't think I needed to know this? I thought –"

"You've got Krum to take care of you, Granger. Don't you see that's better than being with me? I can keep an eye on you –"

"What about me keeping an eye on _you_? I thought we were in this together?"

Draco scowled.

"I'm protecting you!"

"I don't need your protection!" Hermione jumped up from the couch, so furious with him that she started pacing. "Malfoy –"

"Draco," he interrupted.

"Malfoy," she said firmly. "I thought you trusted me."

"I do trust you, damnit. Can't you see that I'm trying to do the right thing?"

"By getting me _killed_?"

It looked as though he was trying to come up with something to say, but before he could, Blaise entered the common room again.

He took in their vastly different positions from the last time he had been in the room.

"Granger. Draco. Anyone up for cards?"

"No," Hermione said. "I'm going to bed." She shot one last angry look at Draco and then went into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

She dressed for bed angrily, cursing men for being complete idiots as she did. She couldn't _believe_ Draco hadn't told her that her life was in danger! And all because he had some misguided sense of honor! He was a Slytherin, he was supposed to be selfish, not idiotically noble.

* * *

Blaise woke up late on Thursday and nursing a mild hangover after having spent the better part of Wednesday night getting drunk with Draco. He had barely enough time to shower and dress before Defense, and decided to forego breakfast in the interest of personal hygiene.

When he arrived at the class he wasn't surprised to see Granger sitting with Ron Weasley, while Draco was sitting at the back of the class, arms crossed, and expression of cold disinterest on his face. Blaise rolled his eyes and sat down beside his friend.

He wasn't exactly sure what had happened between Granger and Draco last night – something along the lines of her being an idiotic woman without any sense, apparently – and he had no interest in coming between them, both of them knew a number of nasty and creative hexes, and he had every wish to remain intact.

"Good morning," Viridian greeted the class as he walked in. The return chorus was weak, and Blaise idly wondered if his peers had also spent the night drinking themselves into oblivion.

He propped his chin on one hand and considered Viridian as he walked to the front of the room. Their Sunday meeting had been interesting. Viridian was convinced that someone was trying to murder Draco. Blaise had dissembled as much as possible, his friend had made it clear he wanted no involvement from the staff, but had agreed with Viridian that it did seem that Draco was going through a sting of bad luck. As much as he had been looking forward to it, Blaise had felt a looming sense of guilt over his growing attraction to Neville, and he had spent the entire afternoon debating whether or not he should tell Viridian. When it came down to it, however, he had pushed it to the back of his mind and taken his well-earned reward and tied Viridian up after Vanishing his clothes. He suspended the Defense professor from the center of his office, arms above his head, and feet just touching the floor. He had taken his time admiring Viridian's toned, powerful body, and then shown his appreciation for it by licking and biting all of his favorite parts. Despite Viridian threatening him with detention, Blaise hadn't been able to resist the urge to bite one of the professor's nipples hard enough to leave a mark. As a gesture of forgiveness – though Viridian looked far from angry – Blaise sucked him off, enjoying the near helpless state he had the other man in.

Wednesday, however, had not been nearly as much fun. Viridian had evidently finally heard about his date for the Halloween Ball, and was none too pleased. So they had spent an hour debating the details of 'cheating' and 'relationship' until Blaise had convinced Viridian that taking Neville to the Ball was not only harmless, but logical. The trouble, of course, was that Blaise knew differently. Neville was obviously attracted to him, and the more time Blaise spent with the Gryffindor the harder it was becoming to deny his own attraction. Which made no sense, really, when he had _Viridian_. But… Blaise was a Slytherin, and he'd always been a bit greedy.

"You won't need your books or wands today," Viridian said. He was standing in front of his desk, leaning back on it slightly, with his arms crossed over his chest. "We are going to have a discussion on virtue."

There was a general mumble of confusion from the students, and Blaise saw more than one Ravenclaw flip through their syllabus, obviously lost.

"Virtue has four essential conditions," he began, and started to walk down the aisles of desks. "Willfulness, Freedom, Knowledge, and Constancy."

Eleanor's hand shot into the air. Viridian stopped his pacing and arched an eyebrow at her.

"Sir, will this topic be covered on the NEWTs?"

Viridian frowned.

"Oddly, no." He continued as though she had not interrupted. "The first element. Willfulness. In order to act virtuously, a wizard must act of his own accord, and not through accident or external guidance. Can anyone give an example that demonstrates this condition? Mr. Zabini?" Viridian turned on him and Blaise swallowed. Was Viridian asking _him_ to give an example of _virtue_?

"Well…in recent times, you could look at Severus Snape deciding to turn back to the light."

Viridian smirked as several students in the class grumbled in disagreement.

"An adequate, though not brilliant, example. The second condition, freedom, implies that the wizard has acted without manipulation or pressure."

Granger raised her hand and Viridian gestured to her.

"Sir, would you consider the laws and conventions of society restrictions on this freedom?"

"What do _you_ think, Miss Granger?"

She frowned, considering the question.

"I don't think they necessarily preclude virtuous action," she said at last and Viridian gave a brief chuckle.

"Indeed. The third condition, knowledge, is perhaps better suited to Mr. Zabini's example. One cannot act virtuously in ignorance. One must act with full knowledge of the truth and its consequences. To act without such knowledge results in behavior that is neither vice nor virtue. The fourth condition, that of constancy, is perhaps the most challenging. One virtuous act does not make a wizard virtuous, more so, one act of vice or passion does not make that wizard non-virtuous." Viridian was looking at Granger as he said this last.

Viridian stopped back at the front of the class and looked out at them.

"I don't get it," Potter spoke up, his voice belligerent. Viridian gave him a measured look.

"Let us examine two powerful wizards: Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle." Viridian looked around the room, and his gaze landed on another hapless Slytherin. "Mr. Nott, do you believe that Albus Dumbledore was a virtuous wizard?"

There was a moment of silence in which most of the class turned to regard the Slytherin. Nott sneered.

"Of course."

"Not a very good answer. Care to try again?"

Nott's second attempt was a long time in coming.

"He acted freely and of his own accord. He lived by his own standards. He knew damn near _everything_. And he acted that way all of the time."

Viridian seemed amused by Nott's answer. He next turned to Potter.

"Mr. Potter, what of Tom Riddle? Can we possibly label him a virtuous wizard?"

Potter sneered.

"He acted of his own free will, he definitely didn't care about the law or what anyone else thought was right. But he didn't act with knowledge of the truth. He was blinded by prejudice and power. But he did act constantly."

"A good assessment. Now… Mr. Longbottom, what about Mr. Potter?"

"Sir?" Neville looked uncomfortable, as he shifted his gaze between his friend and his Professor. Blaise rolled his eyes. It was obvious Viridian was, in some way, exacting revenge on Neville.

"What of Mr. Potter? Does he meet our conditions of virtue?"

Unlike the students before him, Neville started with the final condition first.

"I think Harry has demonstrated time and time again that he is virtuous, making him constant. I also think he acted based on his own value system – unless we can make the argument that it _expected_ for a child to face and defeat his parent's murderer. Harry…didn't always have the knowledge to decide if an act was virtuous or not. He also, well, Dumbledore and Voldemort both forced his hand more often than not." Neville looked apologetic as he regarded his friend.

"In short, Mr. Longbottom, Potter has good intentions, but his actions as a child were less his own than they might have been, were he an adult."

Neville nodded, grateful for the out.

"An excellent point. We can therefore surmise by saying that the actions of children are often misguided, and even forced, by those responsible for their well being. Similarly, knowledge is a powerful component of virtue, and one of the most difficult, for we must seek out knowledge. It does not come to us. Knowledge is the only tool we have to fight off vice, the only way we can judge our own actions and know the truth of our own morals."

Viridian paused and let his words sink in. Blaise wondered how many of his classmates grasped what their professor was trying to say. He looked around the room, and to him immense surprise, found that most of his peers were looking thoughtful.

"For Tuesday's class we will attempt a retrial, from two weeks ago. It would behoove all of you to reconsider your actions, and be prepared to make wiser choices in the future. Dismissed."

Viridian had released them nearly a full half hour before the class was scheduled to end, and Blaise watched, amused, as a few of the Ravenclaw students mingled with Slytherins in what could only be described as a friendly manner.

Blaise looked up at Viridian and shook his head. The professor merely smirked.

"Does he know about your passionate affair with Longbottom yet?" Draco asked from beside him.

Blaise turned a glare on the blonde.

"There is no affair. Just because you've gone and bollocks'd your own relationship, don't go messing with mine."

"There is no relationship," Draco muttered and stood.

Blaise followed his friend from the room.

"Right, because you routinely give _foot massages_ to Gryffindor's you aren't in a relationship with. Merlin, Draco, when do you ever give a foot massage? You do realize that I've caught you and Granger engaged in more physical affection than you've ever had in your life, before this point."

"I've been with girls, Zabini."

"I'm not talking about sex. You realize that you're… you're completely smitten."

"I am not. No one could be smitten with that harpy."

Blaise shook his head, amused.

"Blaise, drop it."

"Alright, alright." He held up his hands in surrender. "You and the Weasley girl picked out your costumes yet?"

"Merlin I'd forgotten it was a costumed ball."

"Oh yes. You should take her to Hogsmeade… go to Gladrags and spend some quality time together."

"I'm very seriously considering never speaking to you again."

"Longbottom and I have ours all worked out… I wonder if Granger and Krum have decided on anything yet. Romeo and Juliet maybe? Or perhaps Guinevere and Lancelot? The possibilities are endless, really."

"Blaise," Draco growled.

"What did you say to her, anyway?"

"I told her about the note. About her being threatened."

"Oh." Now Blaise understood. Granger was exactly the kind of girl to get brassed off because someone was trying to look out for her. "Well, tough luck there. I'd start groveling, if I were you."

Draco glowered at him.

"I do _not_ grovel."

Blaise shrugged.

"Suit yourself, but I don't think Granger's a witch you want to have angry with you. Remember the punching?"

Draco looked very close to hexing Blaise, so he decided to back off.

Lunch was a rather quiet affair. Granger still sat beside Draco, but she didn't say a word to him, instead holding conversation with Neville, Stephan, and Eleanor. Those three were smart enough to realize all was not well between Granger and Draco, but they were also smart enough to keep their mouths shut and ignore it.

Draco spent the meal scowling at his food and Blaise thought the entire thing was pathetic.

And then the Weasley girl decided to join them. Blaise groaned as she sat down, earning an amused look from Neville.

"Hullo," She said as she took the seat on Draco's other side.

"Hi," was Granger's thoroughly unenthusiastic response.

"I heard that Viridian bored you lot with the same lecture we got yesterday." Weasley rolled her eyes and reached towards Draco's plate. The blonde slid it out of reach. Unperturbed by his look of irritation, Weasley picked up a sandwich from the central platter and ate it. "Anyway," she said. "I just wanted to stop by and talk about costumes. Do any of you have anything in mind?"

"We're going as Heloise and Abelard," Eleanor said with a smile. Blaise turned to her, horrified.

"Didn't he get castrated?"

"Yes, but he continued to love her until he died."

Blaise shook his head.

"Besides, theirs was an intellectual love, the physical wasn't important."

"To them," Stephan clarified. "And I'm not concerned about being anatomically accurate. She just wants to wear a nun's habit."

Weasley turned to Neville and Blaise.

"What about you two?"

"Cavaliers," Neville answered promptly, answering the question Blaise had been meaning to ask. He wasn't sure if Neville had been joking or not when he said that.

"But that's not a famous couple."

"You don't have to dress as a couple, or even anyone historical," Granger pointed out, her annoyance with Weasley plain.

"Still – "

"Well, fortunately Neville's going as Charles II and I'll be one of his boy-loves. So, problem solved." Blaise had no intention of doing so, but if it shut her up and turned her attention elsewhere he would do it.

"Hermione? Have you and Viktor talked much about it?"

"No," Granger said and went back to stabbing her salad. Blaise smirked in amusement.

Weasley turned to Draco.

"Malfoy, I was thinking we should go as Tristan and Isolde."

Draco snorted.

"I'm not the type to go and get killed for a girl," he said.

Granger muttered something that Blaise couldn't catch and Draco's jaw clenched.

Weasley turned pleading eyes on him, but Draco remained unmoved.

"Fine. Did YOU have any ideas?"

Draco shot Blaise a triumphant smirk.

"Yeah, actually. How about Guinevere and Lancelot?"

Ginny beamed at him.

"That's brilliant! I know exactly what to wear! Fantastic idea, Malfoy. Right, well I've got to get to Divination. We'll talk more later?" She disappeared as quickly as she had come, and Blaise was sure he didn't imagine the collective sigh of relief as she left.

"It is rather perfect," Granger remarked. "Maybe Harry should go as Arthur?"

"I suppose you could always dress up as Morgaine? The evil, resentful witch?" Draco suggested with a snarl.

Granger's face went pale and then she got up from the table and stalked off.

Eleanor and Stephan exchanged glances.

"Um, I think we're going to run by the library before history of magic…see you later." And they escaped.

"I could be mistaken, but, just yesterday, weren't you and Hermione… friends?" Neville asked.

Draco glared at him.

"Mind your own business, Longbottom."

"She's my friend, which makes her my business."

"Yeah, well she's also annoying as hell. You can keep her." Draco shoved his plate away and got up, leaving Blaise and Neville.

"Lunches with you lot are _much _more interesting than the ones with Gryffindor," Neville commented.

Blaise silently agreed.

"They still haven't realized that they can skip all the sexual tension and arguing by admitting they like each other," he explained. "Sometimes it can be pretty hazardous."

Neville smirked.

"Hermione and Malfoy? That's… unexpected."

Blaise arched an eyebrow.

"Is it really? I mean, she's everything his father ever told him to stay away from."

"I can see how he's attracted to her – but why on earth is she interested in him?"

"Slytherins are irresistible, Neville. I'm _sure_ you've noticed this by now."

Neville grinned.

"Actually, I _had_."

* * *

Friday morning at breakfast, Blaise finally lost his patience with the both of them and left to go eat with Neville at the Gryffindor table.

"Congratulations. You've driven off another one, Granger," Draco sneered as his friend stalked off and abandoned him to Granger's continued wrath.

"Me? You're the one who's acting like a complete arse."

"Am I? At least I'm not sticking my nose in other people's business. Pathetic, really, that you can't find something else to think about."

"It is my business! I thought we were friends!"

"If being friends means that I don't get a moment of privacy, then forget it, I'm not interested. Why don't you just run back to Weasley? You two are back on speaking terms these days – you can tell him what a foul git I am."

"You _are_ a foul git, Draco, but…you're doing it again. You're putting up your bastard armor."

"My what?" Draco was amused despite himself.

"Whenever you start to feel vulnerable you put on the bastard armor. Like that first night – and like now. You're scared, and you're trying to push me away. It's not going to work. You're stuck with me, Draco. And you'd do well to get over yourself and realize that I'm not going anywhere and you're just going to make me angry."

"Why the hell do you care so much, Granger? Weasley's keen to have you back –"

"I don't want him! I want –" Hermione stopped herself and drew in a deep breath. "As much of a git as you are, you understand me. You…you _know_ me. But you've got to tell me when my life has been threatened by some crazy murderer."

Draco held onto his anger for a moment longer, and then he shook his head.

"You're impossible, Granger. Here I am, trying to do the noble thing –"

"If I wanted the noble thing, I'd be with my own house. You, Draco, are not noble. Stop going against your nature and start being selfish. You need all the help you can get."

"I'm ever so glad you have the time to spare," he growled and she sighed, seeming to give up.

"Draco. You know it isn't like that. I want to help you, but you have to trust me."

"I trust you, damnit. I just don't want you hurt."

"You've got a funny way of showing it." She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. "I take it back, I don't want to fight with you anymore. Ron gave me the cloak last night. After dinner, McGonagall usually heads up to her office. We'll follow her and then wait until Ron and Blaise have set off the distraction, and then, hopefully, we can sneak in as she's leaving."

"If I haven't mentioned it before, it's an excellent plan Granger. Truly brilliant. _Hopefully_ we'll be able to get inside?"

"Have you got anything better?" She challenged and Draco was forced to admit that he didn't.

"Why are you so upset about me taking Weasley to the ball?" He asked, thinking back on lunch yesterday, and the rest of the afternoon that she had spent ignoring him. "You know it doesn't mean anything."

"I wanted to be Guinevere," Granger confessed, looking down at her plate.

Draco laughed before he could stop himself and Granger glared at him.

"Seriously? _You_?"

"Doesn't every girl wish she was pretty enough for the greatest king and the greatest knight to fall in love with her?"

Draco could tell that Granger was sharing a deeply buried childhood secret.

"You'd really want to force a man to betray his king?"

"No, I don't want to _be_ Guinevere. I just…Anyway, Morgaine was a brilliant witch, there are far worse people I could be compared to."

Draco had to smile as she tossed her hair over one shoulder and shot him a haughty look.

"What exactly _is_ the distraction Weasley and Blaise are arranging?" He asked.

She grinned.

"Actually, it's rather brilliant. Ron, being the prat he is, got in a shipment of the newest WWW products… and of course he's going to want to terrorize the Slytherins. Somehow he'll manage to get into their common room… and things will rapidly escalate and require McGonagall's intervention."

"Weasley have a death wish?"

"He won't be there when the distraction actually occurs. He won't actually be the one to set it up – since he doesn't have access to the common room. But, of course, Blaise is going to blame him. And it will take _ages_ for McGonagall to track down Ron, since he'll be snogging Lavender in some out of the way corridor."

"At least you've got that part planned out," Draco said. "I still don't know why you think we need to talk to Snape."

"Because Smith wasn't completely honest with me. And you can't name all the Death Eaters still out there. Snape went to school with Smith and he knew the Death Eaters – that kills two birds with one stone. Besides, don't you want to talk to him?"

Draco swallowed hard. He did, actually. He had never had the chance to tell Snape goodbye, or to thank him for saving his life or – well, it would be nice to talk to him.

"Fine."

"Now, can we agree that you'll tell me the next time your stalker threatens my life?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but at her fierce look he nodded.

"And can we agree that I can look out for myself, and it's not your job to protect me?"

Once again Draco nodded.

"Good. If you feel the need to make an appropriate apology, I'm more than willing to accept another foot massage."

Draco arched an eyebrow at that and smirked. She had rather enjoyed that.

"That reminds me, I need to send off an owl. I'll see you in Transfiguration." She jumped up from the table and ran off. Draco watched and shook his head.

Morning classes passed by quickly, and he skipped lunch in favor of working longer on his project for Prince – he was attempting to modify Wolfsbane. Not a terribly promising venture, but one that Prince insisted would benefit him, even when it resulted in failure.

Without Granger, Prince had increased the pace of work he set for Draco, and had started to assign him projects such as this one – more to challenge his creativity than to test his ability to exactly replicate potions. Draco appreciated that. It was difficult work, and he felt that he had progressed immensely. Prince also seemed pleased with his progress, and, in between his creative projects, have tasked Draco with brewing the majority of the infirmary's potions.

Stephan and Eleanor were absent from dinner, and Draco was amused by the wary look Blaise shot him before sitting down. Granger joined them a moment later, and Blaise was clearly anticipating another shouting match.

"Everything's set for tonight," she said as she sat down. "Blaise, have you had the chance…?"

The dark haired Slytherin nodded.

"Everything's set. After dinner I'll head down and check up on Graves – bastard's still causing trouble – and I can be in position to set things in motion."

"Excellent." Granger grinned and Draco had the distinct impression that she was excited.

"You are such a Gryffindor," he said.

"Says my noble, self-sacrificing hero."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I told you, I'm not the type to go dying for some girl."

Granger smirked at that.

"There is a certain parallel to your costumes," Blaise spoke up, clearly judging it safe to do so. "I mean, Weasley is with Potter…I suppose her brother is Galahad?"

"Then who's Merlin?" Granger asked.

"Well, whose's your arch-nemesis? If you're Morgaine, anyway."

Granger looked thoughtful.

"I don't think I have one. Not if Draco's going to be Lancelot."

"I've no intention of stealing Weasley away from Potter," Draco pointed out before they got too carried away.

"Why ever not? She's got such charming manners." Blaise's disgust was clear and Draco smirked. He was convinced that Blaise believed rude, uncouth individuals belonged in the seventh-circle of hell.

They ate in relative silence. Granger was bouncing her foot under the table, and would periodically bump against Draco's leg. After ten minutes it got to be irritating, and he reached under the table and put a hand on her thigh.

She looked over at him.

"It's your plan," he reminded her. "So it'll be perfect, right?"

"Right," she agreed glumly, looking despondent.

"What…" he realized she was thinking about her parents.

Quickly, he moved his hand under her knee and ran his fingers over her sensitive skin.

She squeaked and jerked away from him.

Blaise looked at them as though they were insane, and Draco smirked back at him.

"Right. I'm… just going to go down to the common room." He stood and patted his pocket. "I'll be waiting for you."

Draco watched him go before turning back to Granger. Her face was flushed.

"I don't think he realized what you were doing," she said.

Draco smirked again.

"Probably not," he agreed.

She shook her head.

"Boys. Well, shall we go stake-out McGonagall's office?"

"Lead the way," Draco gestured for Hermione to precede him.

They made their way up to the third floor girl's lavatory and ducked in. Granger pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of her bag and stood awkwardly for a moment.

Draco rolled his eyes and took it from her.

"I'm taller. I'll put it on and you climb under."

He fastened the cloak around his shoulders and held it open. Granger ducked under his arm and stood by his side. Draco pulled the hood over his head and looked in the mirror. They were nowhere to be seen.

"Excellent, let's get a move on."

It took them a few corridors to work out a pace between them, and Draco took advantage of the requisite close quarters and put an arm around Granger's waist.

They arrived at McGonagall's office and plastered themselves to the wall. Draco hoped the witch hadn't beat them up to her office, else they would be waiting all night for no reason.

After five minutes Granger started to grow restless beside him, shifting from one foot to another and crossing and uncrossing her arms. With a sigh, Draco pulled her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her and effectively trapping her against him.

"I don't think this is necessary," she whispered.

"I don't care. If you can't stand still, this is your punishment." He leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the way she fit against him – the top of her head just under his nose. He drew in a deep breath and the scent of her filled his nose. She smelled like vanilla and lavender. After a moment she relaxed and put her head on his shoulder.

"You're still a foul git."

"Don't worry, your plan will work."

The stood in silence for another few minutes, and Draco began to have his own doubts. But then McGonagall came sweeping past them, her usual stern expression firmly in place and her tartan robes billowing around her.

It was another minute before he felt Granger reach into her pocket and withdraw her DA coin and charm it to warn Blaise.

Now all they had to do was wait.

Draco ran his hands through Granger's hair, marveling at how smooth it felt. He wondered if it had always been this smooth, or if it was a byproduct of losing its bushyness.

"Draco," Granger sounded exasperated and he smirked.

The gargoyle beside them suddenly slipped aside and McGonagall, looking furious, stormed past. Instantly, Draco and Granger jumped into the opening and sprinted up the stairs. Draco managed to get his hand in the door before it closed, and he forced it open.

Granger swept off the cloak, breathing heavily.

"We made it," she said.

"Indeed."

They looked up at the sound of Snape's voice. His portrait was examining them with disdain. Draco looked around at the other portraits. About half of them were missing from their frames, while more of them were asleep. He looked at Dumbledore's portrait and swallowed. The old wizard was asleep – or at least pretending at it – and Draco was grateful. He had very mixed feelings about Dumbledore and his death, and he didn't particularly feel like talking to him tonight as well as Snape.

"It certainly took you long enough," Snape sneered.

"So sorry," Granger muttered.

Snape tutted.

"Where has your respect gone?"

"Sorry, _sir_. I'm not really in the mood for snarky Slytherin dialogue tonight, so I'm going to be blunt. We've got questions, and Draco's life is in danger. You're the only one who can help us."

Snape looked over at Draco and arched an eyebrow. His expression seemed to imply extreme dismay at Granger's familiarity. Draco shrugged and crossed over to sit on McGonagall's desk, smirking at Granger's horrified expression.

"Well?" Snape asked eventually.

"I don't suppose you can tell me whether or not Tiberius Smith was a Death Eater," Granger said.

Draco looked over at her in shock. To his knowledge, that question had not been on the agenda for the night.

"Smith? No. He was far too whiny and concerned with his prospects for Ministry employment to be involved with Voldemort."

Hermione nodded and seemed relieved.

"Do you know… were there a lot of Ravenclaw Death Eaters?"

Snape scowled.

"Is there a point to these questions?"

Draco stepped forward, sensing that both Granger and Snape were losing patience with each other.

"Lucius was murdered, and his killer is intent on finishing off the Malfoy line. He apparently sent a Death Eater to torture me – and Granger – in Hogsmeade, and then he managed to curse the Snitch used in the last Quidditch game. He next plan is to kill me at the Halloween Ball… after torturing Granger again."

Snape turned back to Granger.

"And you think I happen to know who it might be?"

"You might have an _idea_, "Granger said. She crossed her arms, looking petulant.

Snape sneered.

"You realize that I spent the entire summer answering to Aurors as they interrogated my _portrait_ over the whereabouts of known Death Eaters. I gave them all the information I could."

"Really?" Granger sounded skeptical.

"Are you accusing me of protecting known criminals, Miss Granger?"

"No sir. I just… it's possible that you might have forgotten a few."

"Sir," Draco jumped in again. "I've gone through everyone I can think of, and no one has access to Azkaban _or_ Hogwarts."

"Have you considered that it might _not_ be a Death Eater?"

Draco blinked. He hadn't, actually.

"But he sent a Death Eater after us in Hogsmeade," Granger pointed out.

"A Death Eater with a modified memory, if I remember correctly. Are you telling me that you think someone capable of murdering Lucius in Azkaban would be unable to use Imperius on a man of Rowle's… questionable intelligence?"

Put that way, it did seem possible. Granger started to ask another question, but Snape waved her away.

"Draco, I would like to have a word with you, before the Headmistress returns." Snape was glaring at Granger, and Draco rolled his eyes.

He walked over to stand in front of his godfather's portrait and cast a privacy charm.

"Sir?"

"Draco, you know that I am not one for sentimental drivel."

The blonde Slytherin smirked, remembering the one time he had dared to hug Snape as a child, and the man's severe reaction to it.

"I am aware, yes."

Snape smirked as well, but then sobered.

"I am grateful that you have taken this opportunity to forge your own path. I have every faith that you will succeed in whatever you put your mind to."

"Potions, actually," Draco interrupted. "I've taken an apprenticeship with Master Prince."

Snape nodded.

"A wise choice. I do not know who Lucius's murderer might be, but you have certainly chosen a wise accomplice."

Draco looked over his shoulder at Granger. Predictably she was examining one of the bookcases along the wall.

"I didn't have much choice," he muttered.

"Even so. Draco – I had a life full of regrets, and I do not wish the same for you."

"I've already made such a mess of things," Draco muttered.

"And you will only continue to do so if you wallow in self pity. You are a Malfoy!"

"This _is_ sounding sentimental, sir."

Snape's gaze was fierce.

"Draco, you are nothing like your father, and you would do well to remember that you make your own destiny. Do not allow your past, nor the mistakes of others, to guide you. Now, I believe Miss Granger is trying desperately to get your attention."

Draco turned around. Granger was gesturing wildly and appeared to be shouting. He released the privacy spell.

"…way! She'll be here any minute, we've got to go!"

Draco grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and threw it back over them. Granger led the way down the stairs.

"Should we try – what if she sees us leaving?"

Draco cast a levitation charm, and they floated above the entrance.

They waited, hearts racing, for McGonagall to return.

Only a moment later the gargoyle slid aside, and Draco was grateful they had not tried to make a run for it – she would undoubtedly have seen them. He held the levitation spell until the door to her office had closed, and then guided them back to the floor.

They ran down the length of the corridor before coming to a halt near the staircase. Granger pulled the cloak off of them.

"Did… did he say anything useful?" Her eyes were wide and hopeful.

Draco reached out and smoothed her hair away from her face.

"Not about the murderer," he confessed.

"Oh. I'm sorry." She looked down. "That was a complete waste of time."

"No it wasn't." He tipped her chin up and cupped her neck. "I appreciated the chance to speak with Snape."

"Oh." Granger leaned into his touch. "I'm glad, then."

"He said you were a good choice for an accomplice."

She grinned.

"No he didn't."

"He did. He also said you were still far too bossy, and that I should probably kiss you more often to shut you up."

Her eyes widened, and Draco took advantage of her surprise and leaned down to press his lips against hers.

She responded instantly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing against him.

Draco coaxed her mouth open and slipped his tongue inside, tasting her for the first time. Her mouth was warm, and he could taste the mint of her teeth cleansing charm, fresh and sharp. She was electrifying, her tongue battling his even as she made a sound deep in her throat that had him wanting to kiss her everywhere. He buried his other hand in her hair and pulled her closer, fitting her against him and basking in the warmth of her body. He felt confident he could go on kissing her for the rest of his life and never be satisfied.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Granger pulled away and Draco looked over her head.

Standing at the top of the stairs was Harry Potter. And the Boy Who Lived was pointing his wand directly at Draco.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks again to all my steady reviewers - and to those of you who reviewed for the first time. Thanks so much for taking the time.

A note on Viridian's lecture on virtue: that was basically a paraphrased Aristotelian dialogue on virtue, if anyone wanted to read more...

* * *

Another Chance

Chapter Thirteen

"Harry. Is there a reason you're holding us at wand-point?"

Hermione was looking at him as though he had just suffered a head injury. Harry swallowed back the anger at that look and lowered his wand, realizing that he probably seemed ridiculous. It had just been instinctual – he had seen Malfoy and his first thought was to prepare for a defense.

He watched as Hermione pulled away from Malfoy and took a few steps towards him. That's when he noticed the cloak hanging from Malfoy's shoulders.

"Is that my Invisibility Cloak?!"

"Um…"

Harry glared at her.

"Explain to me _why_ Malfoy is wearing _my_ Invisibility Cloak."

She drew in a deep breath.

"We needed it to break into McGonagall's office."

Harry blinked and then looked at Malfoy, standing back and looking as smug as ever. Harry really wanted to wipe the sneer off of his pale face.

"And you broke into McGonagall's office because…?"

"Obviously we wanted to go someone quiet for a snog, Potter," Malfoy said as he stepped forward. He drew the cape off his shoulders in one smooth, practiced motion. "Thank you, it came in very handy." Malfoy held out the cape and Harry snatched it from him. Malfoy smirked.

"Draco, stop it," Hermione shot the blonde a look of censure and Malfoy shrugged before leaning against the wall behind Hermione, his arms crossed casually over his chest. He regarded Harry with amusement.

"Harry – "

"What are you doing, Hermione?" It was one thing for her to try and befriend the git – she was as bad as Hagrid, sometimes, thinking she could change the world just by being nice. But _kissing_ him? The same man responsible for Dumbledore's death? Who had tormented them for seven years?

She flushed.

"Well, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing… must be the adrenaline from escaping."

"Must be," Malfoy growled, and Harry was pleased to see that his smug look had dissipated.

Hermione sighed.

"Harry… what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me how you could possibly be snogging this git after everything that's happened! I know that you believed Mrs. Malfoy and all that shit about him never being given a chance – but don't you see, he's still a bastard, just not to you! He's just using you! He's isolated you from all of your friends."

"He saved your life!"

"He had to! He didn't _want_ to. He was this close to being a Death Eater, if only he hadn't been a _failure_ -"

"Yes, quite a shame I decided not to become a murderer," Malfoy agreed as he examined his nails in the dim light of the corridor. He looked up at Harry and his gray eyes were cold and narrow. "What a terrible failure I am for making the right choice."

Harry sneered. "You're a coward and you couldn't go through with it because you didn't have the strength. You didn't have a change of heart!"

"You're right," Malfoy said calmly. "I didn't have a change of heart. I _never _wanted to murder Dumbledore." Malfoy pushed away from the wall and stalked forward, stopping just inches away from Harry. "Do you honestly think that, if I'd wanted to kill him, I'd have done such a piss poor job at it? Dumbledore was the only wizard who thought I was more than my father's son! He's the only one who ever offered me a chance to be better. _Why_ _would I want to kill him?_" Malfoy's voice was hoarse, and Harry was confident the Slytherin was about to lash out at him. "You don't know anything, Potter. You judge other people based on your own ignorance. Not all of us were pushed down the right path. Some of us had to find it for ourselves. And, frankly, if my choices are being a foul git or being like you, I choose myself, any day." Malfoy looked over his shoulder at Hermione. "Will you be alright with him? I need to do my patrols before it becomes obvious I'm missing."

Hermione nodded. Malfoy offered Harry one last sneer, and then he brushed past him.

"Harry –"

"Hermione, I don't care that he's not a Death Eater. Fine, so he's halfway reformed. It's still not right!"

"Why not? Why not, Harry? What have you possibly got against him?"

"Maybe he didn't want to kill Dumbledore. Maybe he never wanted to support Voldemort. But that doesn't change the fact that he enjoys making other people suffer! He's done it since we were eleven – and he still loves to rub it in other people's faces that he's Lord Malfoy. Just because his actions aren't the extreme of evil, it doesn't make him good. How can you possibly forgive him for everything he's done to Ron, and me – and you?"

"Because I've done worse! I've done far worse, Harry, and I'd be a hypocrite to hold a failed murder attempt against him when I _am_ a murderer!" Hermione shouted and her voice broke on the last word. She bit her lip and tears started to stream down her face.

"What are you talking about? The final battle? Even if you did kill someone – you were trying to save lives! You never used the Killing Curse!"

"I'm not talking about the final battle, Harry. And the Killing Curse isn't the only way to murder someone."

"Then what are you talking about?" Harry resisted the urge to hug her, but she looked so broken.

"I'm talking about my father," her voice was so quiet he stepped closer. "I killed my father, Harry. I tried to reverse the Memory Charm and it killed him. He died in my Mum's arms." She sniffed and wiped her face. She turned wide, haunted eyes to him. "So it's not that hard to forgive Draco. He's never done anything as bad as I have. Yes, when we were _children_ he was impossible. But he's…tolerable now. He doesn't hold my actions against me, and I don't hold his against him."

"You said your parents wanted to stay in Australia! You lied – all this time?" Harry couldn't believe it.

"Of course I lied! What was I supposed to tell you? You were testifying at the Ministry in all of the Trials. You came home every night condemning people who had done far less than I – and then, when you blew up at Mrs. Malfoy – how was I supposed to tell you?"

"Hermione – you're my friend. You're – you're not supposed to keep something like that to yourself. You should have told me."

"Why? So you could hate me and despise me?"

"No! So I could help you!"

She looked confused, but then she started to cry harder. Harry closed the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight.

"Harry –"

"." He rubbed her back in the same soothing pattern that she had used on him so often before. He kissed the top of her head. "Hermione, I could never hate you. I might not understand you – and I might think you're exhibiting some really pathetic judgment – but I could _never_ hate you. You've stood by me all along, even when there was no one else."

He pulled back and looked down at her. She met his gaze.

"You were trying to protect them. You tried to save them – and I… I understand what it feels like to be responsible for someone's death. But it doesn't make you a murderer!" Harry thought back to his fifth year and the disastrous rescue attempt he had launched. It had taken a long time to convince himself that he could recover from the event. He knew that a large part of why he had even been able to was because of Hermione's support.

He hugged her again.

"But you can't go through this alone! Remember when you wouldn't leave me to wallow in my own misery? It's my job to take care of! You should have told me!"

He could imagine her spending the last month by herself, thinking the worst, drowning in her own personal hell while he had ignored her and said cruel things. Harry sighed.

"Is that what this is? Are you… punishing yourself? Cutting yourself off from Ron and I?"

Hermione made a choking sound and Harry pulled away, alarmed. But when he saw her she looked amused, despite her tear-streaked face.

"Harry, I don't think kissing Draco is a very, um… painful punishment."

He scowled at the reminder of _that_.

"Why are you doing this to yourself? He's just going to hurt you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and wiped away her tears.

"I'm not saying he's perfect, Harry. We argue all the time and he's so arrogant I want to strangle him – but he understands me. And for reasons beyond me, he _likes_ me – as I am, a swot and bossy know-it-all."

Harry scowled.

"Look, I know you and Ron didn't work… but don't settle for Malfoy because he accepts you. I – Hermione, you're an amazing witch, and you – "

"And I like him. I want him."

He felt a little nauseated at the conviction in her voice.

"Why are you so against him? Why can't you just… give him another chance? Harry, you've been so troubled since we came back to school. I don't know why, and I don't know what to say. I just…I can't help but think that you're taking out your anger on Draco, but I don't know why you're angry."

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Hermione could always tell when something was wrong, and her knack for pinpointing his feelings was uncanny.

"I just don't like him," he said, but Hermione's expression made it clear she didn't believe him.

"We just fought a war, Hermione, against him! Against people like him! And so many of us died – and for what? Voldemort's dead, and most of his Death Eaters are in prison – but look at how many people escaped just by knowing the right people. The Ministry is… a joke. They gave me some nonsense about proportional justice and demanded I testify at all the Trials, and they pushed for who got off and who got punished. People who'd committed the same crimes – but one gave Scrimgour money and the other didn't, so one got sent to jail while the other went free. It's sick – this whole society is diseased. We cut out the heart of it, but it's still there. The prejudice, the Dark magic – it hasn't gone away. So what did everyone die for? Yeah, Muggles aren't being terrorized, and people are being murdered just because they had the wrong kind of parents. But they still aren't given a chance. Malfoy and his type still terrorize them. The Slytherins still act like they own the world and we're a stain. It's the same, and I don't see the fucking point in it."

Harry found that he'd clenched his hands into tight fists. He forced himself to relax.

"Harry – I agree that there are still students in this school that terrorize Muggle-borns, but Draco _isn't_ one of them. He's a good prefect, and he looks out for all of the younger students – not just Slytherins. But – Harry I agree with you. This world isn't perfect. It's really, really far from it. Some days I just want to turn around and walk away. There's been so many centuries of such backward thinking. But, Harry, don't you see that you're falling into their trap? You're being so consumed by your anger that you've become just as intolerant and closed as they are. You're losing _you_, the wonderful boy who stood up to evil because it was the right thing to do. The boy who became my friend, even though I was irritating, and saved me from a cave troll – because you knew it was right. I miss my friend, Harry, and I lost him a long time before Draco came along."

"I…" Harry swallowed hard and found that his throat was tight. Hermione was right. As always. He was becoming like them. "I don't know what to do, Hermione. I'm _not_ the same as I was. But I'm not – I don't want to be like them. Ron tries to be supportive, but he just thinks I need space – and I can't talk to him. He's… Christ, Hermione, he's part of the problem too. He's got the future all mapped out – he doesn't mind just walking into the trap and going along with it. Ginny too! Ginny…" Harry shook his head. "I don't even understand her. This whole thing, trying to make me jealous – does _she_ know about you and Malfoy?"

Hermione shook her head.

"There isn't a Draco and I. That… that was sort of our first kiss."

"Glad I could be there for it."

Hermione smiled and took his hands in hers, gripping tightly.

"I'm not like them. I can't just keep going along and just… fit back into the system. The system's broken, Hermione."

"Then fix it, Harry Potter."

"By myself?" Harry snorted. "I don't think I can cast a disarming spell and hope the Ministry Avada's itself."

Hermione smirked.

"No, that probably won't work a second time. Harry, you've got me. I'll always support you – and tell you when you're being a stubborn arse. But you've also got Ron. I _know_ he talks about going to the Auror Academy and continuing on just like before – but he's hurting too. His brother died, and he sees the same thing as you. He sees the Ministry still the same, and he hates it just as much as you do. Harry, you never open up and talk. You just bottle everything up inside of you. You can't do that. We're your friends, you _have_ to let us in."

"Like you can talk," he pointed out. She looked down. "Hermione – please. You aren't a murderer. And I know, hearing this now probably doesn't help. But in a few months you'll see – you'll be able to look at the whole picture. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake. It wasn't murder."

She nodded, still not looking at him.

"Are we… okay now?"

Hermione looked up and smiled. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him again.

"Oh Harry."

"I still don't like Malfoy. And I still think he's going to hurt you." She pulled away and frowned. "But…" Harry sighed and shook his head. "But I'm willing to give him a chance. But the minute he hurts you, I'm going to hex his arse to China."

Hermione smiled again.

"Thank you, Harry."

A sudden thought occurred to him.

"Does Ron know… about you and Malfoy?"

"No."

"Does Viktor?"

"No! Why on earth would I tell Viktor?"

Harry smirked.

"I've heard that the only reason he's moving to Britain is to find himself a wife. _And_ I've heard the only witch he wants to marry is _you_. Maybe I should warn him he's got competition for your heart."

"Don't you dare, Harry Potter!"

He laughed and held out his hand. She took it, and together they made their way back downstairs. She left him at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, hugging him again, and promising to eat lunch with him the next day.

Harry watched her go and couldn't help but feel lighter, more at ease, than he had in months. He knew it was silly, but telling Hermione everything had made it easier just to _breathe_. He really had missed her.

* * *

Blaise sighed as he sat down to dinner on Saturday night. Draco was busily massacring a few innocent, boiled potatoes on his plate while Ginny Weasley seemed to be doing her best to drive Eleanor and Stephan away with the sheer force of her voice. Granger was eating at the Gryffindor table, sandwiched between Potter and Weasley – just as she had been at lunch and breakfast before that. Draco was not taking the change in seating arrangements well.

He hadn't gotten the chance to speak with Draco alone – but he could tell that last night's adventure had not gone as well as Granger had been hoping it would. And he was really curious about how Granger had been reunited with her idiot friends. He just also really happened to like his head on his shoulders – and he was afraid of what Draco would do if he even mentioned Granger's name.

"So what _happened_ last night in the Slytherin common room?" Weasley was demanding, leaning forward and turning eager eyes to Blaise. "You and McGonagall came storming into the common room and got Ron – but he wouldn't say anything later."

"Bet he was too busy gloating," Blaise muttered. Weasley's eyes widened. "I've no idea _how_ he did it – but he rigged up an entire series of Flatulent Fireworks in the common room and set them off just as dinner was ending. He rigged the portrait to trap everyone inside, I only found out because I was looking for Draco and tried to get in… I could smell it on the other side. I went to Viridian, but he couldn't get in either. Had to floo McGonagall. It took her fifteen minutes to figure out how to stop it. But by then…" Blaise shook his head. "The smell was _disgusting_. Even now it still reeks in there."

"Ron did that?!"

"Apparently he's not taken too kindly to the idea of Draco dating his little sister…" Blaise trailed off and sent his friend a meaningful look. Draco glared back.

Weasley, however, blushed and tried to look confused.

"Oh, but that's silly. We're just going to the Ball together." She turned and beamed at Draco. "Right?"

"Exactly right," Draco agreed.

"Um…since you two were stuck dealing with the Smelly Room last night, are we playing tonight?" Eleanor asked.

"Playing?" Weasley turned to look at Draco. "What are we playing?"

Draco glared at Eleanor, and the Ravenclaw scowled, obviously not having anticipated Weasley being this infuriating.

"Playing which prefect can take off the most points from Gryffindor," Blaise cut in smoothly. "And yes. We'll meet up at the same time."

Draco rolled his eyes, but Eleanor and Stephan nodded.

Weasley scowled.

"You aren't really competing to see how many points you can take off my house."

"We are. Last week Draco won – took off a full sixty points to my forty."

"That's unfair!"

"My dear, we're Slytherins. We _live_ to be unfair. If you don't like it – go complain to Longbottom. In fact, I insist. Tell your precious Gryffindor prefect exactly what we just said. Go on." Blaise shot her his most condescending look. Weasley slammed down her goblet, spattering Draco with pumpkin juice, and stalked off to the Gryffindor table.

Draco wiped the pumpkin juice off of his face with his napkin and heaved a sigh of relief.

"I might hex her, next time she sits with us," he confessed.

Eleanor and Stephan nodded rather eagerly.

"I don't know what kind of trade you worked out with Potter and Weasley – but I want Granger back," Blaise said.

"I don't decide where she eats," Draco said sourly. "Clearly she's back in the bosom of good society."

Blaise rolled his eyes at the melodramatic tone.

"Right. Well – looks like Weasley's gone and done exactly as she was told." He smirked as Neville turned away from Weasley and got up, walking purposefully towards their table.

Blaise slid over and made room for Neville. The Gryffindor sat down.

"Not very kind of you to foist her off on _me_," he said.

"Sorry, I just had to get rid of her fast."

" Well, you can count me in for the game – shall we make another effort at liberating more of Dippet's wine?"

Blaise smirked.

"You read my mind." He turned to his his friend. "Draco – care to invite the Head Girl or shall I?"

"If she can tear herself away from the scintillating conversation those two are offering her," the blonde sneered.

"Right. I'll ask her then."

As they walked away from the table Neville leaned in close.

"What was _that_ all about?"

"I _told_ you those two were hazardous. I don't know – something happened last night, but neither of them have bothered to complain to me about it yet."

Neville smirked.

"You could always ask."

"If I wanted to call myself a Gryffindor, yes."

Neville shook his head. They came to a stop behind Granger and Blaise cleared his throat.

The threesome turned around.

"Oh, hi," Granger smiled and Blaise arched an eyebrow. Usually when one of them was upset, both of them were… this was unusual.

"Granger, Longbottom has apparently heard a complaint that I am unfairly punishing Gryffindors…" Blaise rolled his eyes. "Anyway, he'd like to talk about it. Have you got a minute?"

It was clear Granger didn't believe him, but then, he wasn't trying to be that believable. But she nodded and stood.

"I'll catch you up later – tomorrow, probably," she said to Potter and Weasley.

"Don't stay up all night studying," Weasley admonished.

Granger rolled her eyes.

"I promise, I won't."

"Yeah, right." Potter grinned and waved.

Granger smiled and turned back to Blaise.

"Well? What trouble are you causing now?" She demanded as they walked towards the exit.

"None," Neville said. "Just wanted to know if you were in for the poker game."

"Of course! I never pass up an opportunity to take money from you rich, pure-blood types."

"We've noticed," Blaise said. "We're going down to fetch more wine. We'll be up in a few – Eleanor and Stephan are in."

"Draco?" She bit her lip and looked anxious.

Blaise arched an eyebrow.

"Any reason he shouldn't?"

"No, of course not." She sighed. "I just get the feeling he's cross with me."

"Any reason he should be?" Blaise fished.

Neville coughed, and it sounded suspiciously as though he had said 'Gryffindor' as he did so. Blaise turned to scowl at him, but Neville merely looked innocent.

"Right – we've got to get going," Neville said, practically dragging Blaise away.

Granger watched them go, a frown on her face.

"That was very smooth, Zabini."

Blaise huffed.

"As if you're one to talk. Did you really just _cough_ Gryffindor?"

"Maybe," Neville allowed.

"Pathetic."

"Blaise – I might be crazy, but I'm pretty sure Viridian's got it out for me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Last night, after you disappeared with McGonagall to find Weasley, Viridian tracked me down and made me assist in fumigating the Slytherin common room. Since my house was at fault, it was apparently the Prefect's duty to rectify the situation."

"He didn't."

"Yes, he did. And it was foul."

Blaise smirked a little as he pictured Viridian enjoying forcing the Gryffindor to cleanse the Slytherin common room. He shook his head.

"He wasn't too happy that you're my date for the Ball," he confessed.

"But he didn't care that I kissed you? Or that all you can think about when you look at me is getting in my pants?"

Blaise shot him a patronizing look.

"That's not _all_ I think about, Neville. Sometimes I think about keeping your pants on and –" Blaise stopped himself before he went too far. Just because he did, in fact, fantasize about the Gryffindor did _not_ mean he needed to go telling him about the fantasies.

"And what?" Neville asked.

"Nothing," Blaise growled.

"Shame. I can think of all sorts of things I'd do to you – with or without pants."

Blaise looked away from Neville, the obvious lust in the other boy's eyes too much for him. This was getting dangerous. And despite the fact that Blaise liked to live recklessly, he also had a strong sense of honor – Viridian had said no one else; and Blaise had given his word.

"Neville, if you think Viridian's pissed now, wait til he finds out something has happened between us."

"I'm not scared of him, Blaise. He can hardly mandate how I live my life."

"Yet you're afraid of your _grandmother_…"

"Who is _far_ scarier than Viridian, I assure you."

Blaise shook his head but let the argument drop as they reached the cellar. He lifted the wards, and again Neville provided illumination. Blaise decided to grab a few bottles extra than last time – if nothing else, he would get Granger drunk later and force the truth from her. After all, getting her drunk was almost like drugging her… and that was a Slytherin tactic if ever there was one.

The walk back to the common room was silent and tense. Blaise couldn't tell if Neville was sulking or had finally decided to back off; either way, it wasn't pleasant. Blaise had grown accustomed to Neville's sharp retorts and running commentary. The silent treatment was not what he wanted.

"For fuck's sake." He stopped and turned to Neville. The Gryffindor regarded him levelly, but his face was closed. Blaise closed the distance between them and kissed him.

It was nothing like their first kiss – no teasing, no light touch. Blaise felt a fair amount of irritation with the Gryffindor and he didn't bother to hide that as he pressed his mouth forcefully against Neville's. Despite that, Neville was kissing him back just as forcefully, and when Blaise felt the thrust of his tongue he groaned. A moment later he pulled back and glared at the Gryffindor.

Neville looked rather pleased with himself.

"Happy now?" Blaise demanded.

"Yes," Neville answered with a smirk. "You?"

"No," Blaise growled. "Just as pissed at you as before."

"Hm. Maybe we'd better kiss again." Neville took the initiative this time, walking Blaise back against the wall. He flicked his wand, and the wine bottles levitated out of their arms and landed gently on the floor. Blaise scowled. "Yes, you look like you could really use another kiss."

Neville put his hands on either side of Blaise's head and leaned in close, his lips just touching Blaise's.

"Unless you don't want another kiss?" He asked and sucked on Blaise's lower lip. "Hm?"

Blaise groaned at the sensation.

"Sorry, couldn't hear you. Was that a yes or a no?" Neville leaned in closer and gently bit down on Blaise's earlobe.

The Slytherin closed his eyes and forced himself to remain in control and _not_ tackle the Gryffindor right then.

"It was a yes, you smug bastard," he finally ground out.

"I thought so." Neville's mouth was back on his in an instant, hot and insistent, and Blaise gave in to the sensations the kiss aroused. Damn it all, but Neville could kiss.

Finally Neville pulled away, his face was flushed and his eyes hazy.

"We should probably find our way to the common room before they send out a search party," he said, eyes latched onto Blaise's mouth.

The Slytherin felt his throat go dry at the intense look.

"That or Granger and Draco might kill each other if they're unsupervised."

"Good point," Neville said. He gathered up the wine bottles – passing half to Blaise and holding onto the others.

"Still mind-numbingly good?" He asked casually.

"You tell me," Blaise shot back.

"Yeah. It definitely was. However – I think if we keep practicing it'll get even better."

"Do you?" Blaise looked over at him with amusement. Neville nodded earnestly.

"Yes. Perhaps we can schedule a study session for tomorrow afternoon?"

"Can't. I've got my meeting with Viridian."

"Right." The light tone was gone from Neville's voice and Blaise scowled.

"Neville –"

"No, I get it. Anyway, we're here."

Blaise gave the password, "Agusto Boal," and they entered.

Sadly, Blaise's prediction about leaving the two of them alone proved to be true. Granger was sitting in her customary seat in front of the couch, arms crossed and scowling. Draco, meanwhile, was in an armchair across from her, glaring at Granger as if he could kill her with his gaze alone.

"Don't tell me you already managed to scare off Stephan and Eleanor."

Draco sneered.

"You've probably scarred them for life." Blaise sighed. "Right. Can I trust the two of you to behave like adults, and get drunk, and talk this out? Or do you require supervision? Neville and I would be perfectly happy to stay and watch the show, and get drunk ourselves, if that's the case."

"No we wouldn't," Neville muttered. Blaise elbowed him.

"Well? What's it going to be?"

"I think we can sort this out ourselves," Granger finally said. Though, based on her tone, that was doubtful.

"Right. Just refrain from any severing curses, okay? I'm going to leave this with you." He put his three bottles of wine down on the table. "They had better be empty when I return. Or I'll be forced to take off house points."

Granger's head whipped around.

"You can't deduct points because we won't get drunk."

"No, I can deduct points for behavior unbecoming the Head Girl and a Prefect. If you two can't even resolve an argument between yourselves, how are you supposed to mediate between the rest of the school?"

Granger rolled her eyes at the logic and Draco snorted.

"We're leaving now," Blaise said, and together he and Neville backed out of the room.

"Where to?" Neville asked.

Blaise sighed.

"I think I'll go and patrol for a while… you're welcome to take those back to the Gryffindors, with my compliments."

Neville smirked.

"I think it'll give them an aneurysm."

"My goal exactly."

"Right… some other time?"

Blaise nodded and watched as Neville disillusioned the wine and then left.

He wandered the corridors for an hour, breaking up two fights and one snogging session – again between seventh years. He pointed out, for what felt like the thousandth time, that they had private rooms and took off ten points from each of them.

It was after this last that he found himself near the Astronomy tower. He made the walk up the twisting staircase and pushed open the door at the top.

The ramparts were empty and Blaise walked out to the low stone wall guarding the edge. There was a bit of a wind, cold and sharp at his back, but otherwise it was a perfect night. They sky was clear, and the stars glittered overhead like so many spilled diamonds. He found all of the familiar constellations and tried to remember the myths associated with each.

He was studying the horizon when he spotted a figure moving on the grounds far below. Blaise watched as it left the gates and crossed to the edge of the wards… and then vanished, Apparating away.

Blaise frowned. It wasn't exactly required that the faculty stay at Hogwarts during the weekends, but it was unusual for one of them to be leaving at this hour.

Unless it wasn't one of the staff members.

With a sudden feeling of dread, Blaise turned and fled down the stairs, tripping as he tried to take too many steps at once. He finally made it to the base of the tower and then took off running down the corridors to his common room.

It seemed to take twice as long as usual to reach his room. He practically shouted the password and waiting impatiently for the portrait to swing aside.

Finally he stepped into the room. Only to find it empty.

"Shit." He turned, ready to storm down to the Slytherin common room, but decided to recruit Granger first. She might be furious with Draco, but she would still be keen to save his life.

He beat on her door, counting the seconds as he waited for her to answer.

"Come on…" he had the very sudden realization that Granger could very well be with Draco – bleeding to death in one of the corridors or writhing under the cruciatius curse."Granger! Open the damn door!"

He was ready to turn and go to Viridian, when at last Granger opened her door.

"What?" She demanded. She was still dressed in jeans, but instead of wearing her jumper she wore some thin, strappy top that revealed a lot of her chest. She looked rumpled and her hair was no longer pulled back in a neat bun.

"Draco – we've got to find him."

She scowled.

"Why?"

"I just saw someone Apparate from the grounds. It might have been Lucius' murderer. We need to make sure Draco's still alive."

"I think he's okay, Blaise. If not, we'll find his body in the morning." She sounded both amused and irritated.

"How can you be so flippant? He might be _dead_ –"

"I'm fine." Draco suddenly appeared behind Granger. And he wasn't wearing a shirt.

"Right." Blaise could actually feel himself blushing.

"But it's nice to know you're so determined to save my arse," Draco said, smirking as he leaned against the open door frame.

"Sure. No problem. I'll just – "

"Blaise, you aren't _embarrassed_ are you?" Draco sounded incredibly amused.

"Course not, I've seen you naked dozens of times."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. Granger turned to look at Draco.

"What?"

Draco smirked.

"Not _my_ fault Blaise has a wandering eye."

"I'm just going to leave, now," Blaise started to edge away.

"Blaise, nothing happened. I was just –he –"

"No, it's fine. No explanations necessary."

"I was just trying to tickle him!" Granger sounded completely exasperated.

"Of course. I'm… really going to go now. I think I need to scrub out my brain. You two… have fun. Good to see you back on decent terms with each other." And Blaise fled.

* * *

A soon as Neville and Blaise had left, Granger turned on him.

"What is your problem _now?_" She demanded.

Draco sneered and got up to retrieve one of the bottles of wine. He conjured a glass for himself and filled it.

"You've spent all day ignoring me, and I don't even know what I've _done_ this time." She sounded exasperated and angry.

"Nothing. You've done absolutely nothing wrong. Your life is back, exactly as you wanted it." She had Potter and Weasley back on her side, and it had been obvious, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, that she was happier than she had been in weeks. Even Draco could see it. And he knew it was because of them – because Potter was speaking to her again and Weasley was free to show his own forgiveness. So the Idiot Twins got Granger back, and he was stuck with the youngest Weasley instead. Blaise had been right – it was a rotten trade.

"Well I thought it was going well, until _now_." Her face instantly hardened. "Oh. Of course."

She reached out and grabbed one of the other bottles and didn't bother to conjure a glass. She simply charmed the cork out and took a swig.

Draco sneered, but had to admit she had the right idea. He drained his glass and abandoned it in favor of the bottle.

"Exactly. You've got them back, so – enjoy your life."

"Wait. What?" Granger looked confused.

"I _said_ You've got them back. Enjoy your life."

"What are you – this is about Harry and Ron? Are you serious?"

"What else would it be about?" He was confused himself.

"About last night – about the kiss."

"Oh, your moment of 'adrenaline.' I'd forgotten all about it." He sneered.

She swallowed another mouthful of wine and he found himself swallowing suit. If nothing else, he was determined to out drink her. He was the one who had just lost her, after all, he deserved to be more drunk.

Granger looked at him, her expression earnest.

"What?" He demanded.

"I – have you ever played Truth or Dare?"

"Never heard of it."

"It's a Muggle game," she admitted, "but we used to play it in Gryffindor. It's simple. We take turns asking each other Truth or Dare. If you say Truth, then I ask you a question, and you have to answer it honestly. If you say Dare, then I dare you to do something, and you have to do it."

"And what is the appeal of this game?"

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. Usually it's something you do when you're drunk, or have had too much sugar. Since we seem to be intent on having a drinking contest, it seems like a good time to do it."

Draco considered. But, since he really didn't think sitting here, drinking in silence and glaring at each other was a brilliant idea, he nodded.

"Fine."

"Good. Alright. Truth or Dare?"

"What kind of dares?" He asked.

"Something that can be done in the room. Usually you play with more people – and so the dare's often involve interaction. Nothing hazardous."

"So you won't dare me to throw myself out the window?"

"That _was_ my first thought," she conceded and he smirked.

"Fine. Truth."

"Okay… have you really already forgotten our kiss?"

Draco swallowed and looked at her. She honestly seemed to think that he was being serious.

"No, of course not. How could I – with Potter there to interrupt. It's seared in my mind forever now."

She frowned, and this was obviously not the answer she had been hoping for.

"Truth or Dare?" He asked, before she could ask him anything else.

"Dare," she said after a pause.

"Finish off that bottle, in less than a minute," he instructed, nodding towards the mostly full bottle of wine she held.

"Seriously?"

"That or jump out the window. Your call."

She rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Are you going to time me?" She asked sarcastically just before tipping it back.

He watched as she struggled to down it, and was impressed when she managed to do after stopping for air just once.

"Happy?" She demanded after gasping for air.

"Yes." He smirked at her sour expression.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Dare." He was actually a little scared of what she might dare him to do, considering how angry she still looked.

"I _dare_ you to list three reasons for why I would abandon you for Ron and Harry."

Draco scowled.

"That sounds more like a truth."

"We never said that dare's couldn't be verbal," she pointed out and crossed her arms, waiting for his answer.

"One – you've been friends with them for seven years. Two – it's easier. Three –" he was having trouble coming up with a reason he could say, since _you like them more_ was too pathetic for him to actually vocalize. "I can't think of a third," he finally said.

"Hm. Imagine that. Well, since you couldn't complete your dare, you'll have to take a penalty."

He arched an eyebrow. She had said nothing about that before.

"And what is the penalty?"

"We always required someone to remove an article of clothing." She looked expectant.

Draco set his bottle of wine down on the table and pulled off his jumper. He waited for her approval and she eventually nodded.

"Truth or Dare."

"Truth."

It went against his nature to ask her a direct question, but he wasn't about to pass up the chance to get information out of her either.

"Are you over Weasley?"

She rolled her eyes.

"What a waste of a question," she muttered, before saying, louder: "Yes. Very much over him. I think I was over him almost before we started dating."

Draco smirked at that answer, but couldn't help but feel relief. The way she sat with them so easily and companionably was unlike anything _they_ did, at least in public. He took another sip of his wine.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"Did you _enjoy_ our kiss last night?" She was biting her lip again, and Draco found himself fixated on the point of contact between her lip and the plump flesh.

"Draco?"

He tore his gaze away from her mouth.

"Yes, I enjoyed it," he answered shortly. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Were you and Krum really only ever friends?"

"No. We… I guess not." She blushed and then glared at him. "No, we were more than just friends."

"I thought so."

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"Did you ever consider switching sides – joining with Dumbledore?"

He snorted.

"Every day of every vacation since fourth year. But then I'd go back to school and there Potter would be. And I'd just… let it go."

"Just because of _Harry_?"

"I think you already had your question," he said. "Truth or Dare."

"Dare."

He looked at the unopened bottle of wine. Granger paled.

"No, please. The first one is already catching up with me."

"I thought you were supposed to be drunk to play this game."

"Drunk, not suffering from alcohol poisoning."

He smirked at her tone.

"Balance it on your head."

"What?"

"Put the bottle on your head, and then walk around the couch – without using magic."

She frowned, but stood and picked up the bottle. She seemed very unsteady and he smirked, sensing victory. Granger saw his look and her jaw dropped.

"You think I'm too drunk to do it!"

"I _know_ you're too drunk to do it," he countered.

"Well, you're wrong." She placed the bottle on her head and started to walk. She held her hands out to her sides, as though she were walking a tight rope. To his great surprise, and greater disappointment, she made her circuit around the couch with only a few close calls. She took the bottle off her head and grinned at him in triumph.

"Truth or Dare."

"Truth."

"How long have you _not_ hated me?"

The truth, of course, was that he had never hated her. Even from the first, he had felt a kinship with her. She was, in her own way, as much of an outcast as he was. She was also everything his father insisted didn't exist: she was brilliant, powerful, and Muggle born. He had been angry with her for besting him in all of his classes, and he had taken out his dislike of Potter and Weasley on her… but he had never hated her, despite the fact that he was supposed to.

"Pass," he said and she scowled. He wasn't about to give away that much of himself, even though he could see that that had been her intention with this silly game in the first place: convince him that she wasn't abandoning him, and convince herself that he liked her.

He pulled off his shirt and leaned back in the chair. Granger was looking over his bare chest with interest.

He smirked.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Yes. Much better without bruising and curse-marks," she replied with a smirk of her own.

"Truth or dare."

"Dare." Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed, and Draco knew that the wine had definitely caught up with her. He considered his own bottle, still nearly half full.

"Try and tickle me."

She cocked her head, considering him for a moment. But then she stood and walked over to him.

"Stand up," she instructed.

He complied.

She bit her lip again as she considered where to attack him first. Suddenly her hands darted out, going for his stomach. When the elicited no response she nudged her hands under his arms and to his arm pits. That too failed and she sighed in frustration.

"Fine. You win." She pulled off her sweater, revealing a thin, strappy shirt like the one she had slept in before. He could see the outline of her bra under it, and the straps at her shoulders. She crossed back over to the couch and sat down.

"Truth or Dare."

"Dare."

"Finish off your bottle _and_ the other one."

"You can't have alcohol poisoning but I can?"

She frowned.

"Fine. Leave your bottle – drink the other one."

Not the compromise he had been hoping for, but Draco prided himself on being able to keep an even keel even when he was completely drunk.

He opened the bottle and drank it down, tipping it upside down when he was finished as proof of his accomplishment. She shook her head.

"Now, Truth or Dare."

"Truth."

"How long have you liked me?"

"I still _don't_ like you most of the time," she pointed out.

"Fine. How long have you been _attracted_ to me?"

"Fourth year, at the Yule Ball. You looked very dashing."

"More dashing than _Krum_?" While Draco was by no means lacking in self confidence, he doubted his fourteen year old self compared to the Quidditch star.

"You've always been rather dashing, even when you were being a total git," she confessed. "It's probably your only decent quality."

"My ability to look dashing?" He asked in amusement.

She nodded, completely sincere. And completely drunk.

"Truth or Dare."

"Kiss me again."

He was out of his chair almost before she finished, and she met him halfway across the room. Draco took a moment to study her face, still flushed, and her eyes, drooping with alcohol and what was clearly desire. And her lips… he brushed them with his own, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin on his. She parted her mouth and he dipped his tongue inside, tasting the wine and heat of her. She made that same sound again – something like a moan, but softer and yet more primal. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her body fit against his, the bare skin of her shoulders pressed against his chest. It felt wonderful. She tasted amazing.

She lifted her hands to his back, running her hands down until they reached his sides. And then she tickled him.

He jumped away, but not before a giggle escaped.

Granger was grinning at him.

"I _knew_ you were ticklish!"

"You tricked me!"

"How does it feel, Mr. Slytherin? Like the taste of your own medicine? My my, Draco, I didn't even know you were physically _capable_ of giggling. I wonder if I can get you to do it again –"

She reached out but he jerked back, causing her to laugh.

"Think it's funny, do you?"

She nodded.

"Well, since you seem to be in the mood to laugh, you won't mind if I tickle _you_, will you?"

Her eyes widened in fear and she shrieked as he charged towards her.

Granger turned and bolted for her room, with Draco hot on her heels. She started to close the door but he threw his weight against it.

"You won't escape that easily," he assured her and forced his way into the room.

She abandoned her attempts with the door and ran to her desk, shoving her chair out between them. He arched an eyebrow at this pathetic obstacle and closed the door behind him, pitching the room into darkness with only the moonlight from her window illuminating them.

He advanced on her and she jumped onto the bed. He dove forward and caught her foot just as she started to move past him. He yanked and she went tumbling, landing on her back with a cry of surprise.

Draco grinned and climbed onto the bed, grabbing her hands when she tried to push him away.

"Now, Granger, do you know the penalty for even trying to tickle me?" He asked.

She shook her head, looking terrified and delighted.

He smirked.

"A very severe tickling. And sense you happen to be very sensitive – I'm afraid it's going to go very badly for you. Scream if you have to."

And with that he attacked.

Granger tried to twist away, crying and laughing as she did, but he threw one leg over hers to trap her in place better, and continued the torture.

"Stop! Oh – Please – please stop! I can't breathe!"

"What am embarrassing way to die," he mused as he continued to tickle her. "I can just imagine the article in the Prophet now: Hogwarts Head Girl dies in her bed. Autopsy reports indicate she expired after being tickled to death." He made a tsking sound.

"Now, if you apologize very –"

There was a sudden pounding on the door.

Draco stopped tickling her.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Let me up."

"No. You might try to kick me."

She shot him an exasperated look.

"It might be important."

"Granger! Open the damn door!"

Draco snorted.

"It's just Blaise. He can wait until I'm through with you."

"Draco. He's the Head Boy – something might have happened. Let me up."

He sighed and released her, rolling to the side so she could get up.

Granger crossed to her door, and Draco couldn't help but smirk as he took in her disheveled state.

She opened the door.

Draco listened to them, amused as Granger tried to get rid of Blaise without revealing his presence in her room. At last, though, the temptation was too great, and he got up from the bed and walked over to stand behind her.

Blaise looked genuinely panicked, but at the sight of Draco, half dressed and in Granger's dark room, the Head Boy's face actually turned red.

Draco was convinced it was the first time he had ever seen Blaise blush – and he took advantage of the situation as much as he could, trying to embarrass him further.

Blaise eventually escaped, and Draco closed the door before turning back to Granger.

He smirked at the look on her face. She seemed almost as embarrassed as Blaise had been.

"I don't think he believed me," she said.

"I wouldn't've. You look like someone's been kissing you for hours."

She tossed her hair.

"Well, no one has been. In fact, I've just been mercilessly tortured."

"I remember. I was the one who tortured you."

She rolled her eyes and then yawned.

"I'm sorry – I'm just –"

"You're just completely drunk and exhausted after your torture," he finished for her.

She nodded.

"Can I please have a reprieve?"

"That depends. What are you going to offer me instead?"

"Another chance to sleep in the Head Girl's room?" She offered, sounding hopeful.

"I suppose that will do," he said. She let out a breath of mock relief.

"Okay – I'm going to go and brush my teeth."

"You realize that you know a perfectly good spell for that," he pointed out as she collected her night clothes.

"I know. I just like the routine. It reminds me of home."

He didn't push the issue further after that.

"Right, well, off you go so I can change in privacy."

She smiled and then left the room.

Draco pulled off his trousers and contemplated transfiguring his boxers into pajama bottoms. He wasn't about to go and raid Blaise's room again – the Head Boy honestly might not be able to recover from _that_ as well as the other shock he had taken that night.

Draco walked back out into the common room and found his shirt and jumper.

He transfigured the shirt into pajama bottoms and went back into Granger's room before pulling off his boxers and putting them on.

He cast her cleansing charm on his teeth and then placed his wand on her bedside table and stretched out on the bed.

Granger returned a moment later, still wearing the strappy top, but now she had paired it with pajama bottoms and removed her bra. She had also brushed her hair out. And she looked nervous.

"What?" He asked, propping himself up on the bed.

She shook her head.

"Nothing. I just – well, last time we slept together, we hadn't kissed. Or tickled yet."

"True. Should I be concerned with my virtue?"

She rolled her eyes, but the joke set her at ease and she climbed onto the other side of the bed and set aside her own wand. She stretched out beside him and regarded him seriously.

"Draco – are we always going to fight this much?"

He considered her question. While her use of the term _always_ projected a number of scenarios in his mind, he ignored them and the panic, as well as, he had to admit, the happiness those caused.

"Only if it's this much fun to apologize after."

"You are impossible," she muttered.

"And irresistible," he added and pulled her against him.

"That too," she agreed with another yawn.

They assumed their customary positions – and Draco was amused by that, as Granger scooted back against him and brushed her hair away from his face as though they had been doing this for years.

"Granger."

"Draco."

"I'm just about ready to forgive you for abandoning me for Potter and Weasley."

"Oh, I'm ever so glad. I suppose I'm nearly ready to forgive you for ignoring me."

"Anything I can do to help convince you?" Draco asked.

She rolled over in his arms and looked up at him with a smile.

"Hm. Perhaps a goodnight kiss?" She suggested.

Draco smirked.

"If it will help…"

"A little, probably."

He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Good night, Hermione."

She smiled again, looking happy, content, and sleepy.

"Good night, Draco."

She rolled back over and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Draco listened to her breathing even out as she fell asleep. And he thought, if _always_ fighting with Granger ended with him in her bed, he probably could fight with her for the rest of his life.

It was a scary thought, especially considering the fact that he was only sleeping with her – they had shared no more than three kisses – and he was already ready to commit himself to her. Pathetic, really. Then again, he reflected as he ran his hand through her hair, it was extremely doubtful she would be able to put up with him for _always_ anyway.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: And my streak of daily updates is broken. Sorry, if you expecting a new chapter yesterday, but I got quite busy.

Also, graphic (ish) sex ahead. It's about two-thirds through. Um… if you don't want to read it, here's your warning: if it sounds like they're about to have sex, they are, so skip ahead to the next POV.

As always, reviews are appreciated. I think it's totally awesome that so many people have added this to their alerts list and their favorites. I think it's sort of weird, though, that I've got more people on the alert list for this fic than I have reviews…. I love that so many people are enjoying this, but if you have the time, I'd love to get feedback.

To those of you who are reviewing: thank you, I really appreciate it.

* * *

Another Chance

Chapter Fourteen

Draco decided that, if the Dark Lord had _really_ wanted to torture his enemies, he would have sent them shopping with Ginny Weasley. The witch was impossible to tolerate under normal circumstances, but in a dress store… Draco was very seriously considering the use of an Unforgivable. He just hadn't decided whether he should cast it on himself or on her.

"What about this one?" She asked as she stepped from the fitting room, wearing another dress – and although this one was green, whereas the ones before it had been red, yellow, pink, orange, white, and purple – it still looked the same, and he said as much.

Weasley scowled.

"It is _not_ the same, Malfoy. Look at the trim – see how it twines together, like snakes. I thought you would appreciate that detail."

Draco fought not to roll his eyes, but it was a very near thing. He wondered if Granger would hold it against him if he cursed the girl – it wasn't like _they _were friends. She was just the ridiculously annoying little sister of her best friend. He was almost positive she would thank him for it.

"Sure. Looks great. Are you done yet?"

She glowered, and then stormed back into the dressing room.

"No. I want to find the _perfect_ dress."

"Would you like to try a different style, Miss Weasley?"

Despite the fact that the rest of the shop was filled with customers, the lead seamstress at Gladrags was personally overseeing Weasley's fittings. Madame Therese was an intimidating witch, dressed very severely in black robes that hugged her curvaceous form and were cinched in at her waist with a shiny, black leather belt. She reminded Draco of a dominatrix, and the mental image in his mind was very difficult to ignore when he looked at her.

"Yes, perhaps something with a more fitted bodice?" Weasley called out, and the seamstress bustled away.

Draco leaned back in the plush chair that had been situated outside of the dressing room. They had been at this for hours, and he was convinced it would go on for hours more.

This morning as he, Granger, and Blaise had sat down to breakfast, Weasley had joined them with the unwelcome reminder that Draco had promised to escort her to Gladrags to try on dresses for the Halloween Ball. Both Granger and Blaise had looked amused, and traded a few jokes at his expense. It seemed that Granger was no longer as infuriated by the prospect of Draco escorting Weasley to the ball. While Draco was grateful for that, he would rather be done with the entire thing. Between Weasley and his stalker, he was convinced the night would be one of the worst in recent memory.

Weasley, having at last sensed that Granger and Blaise were trying to get rid of her, had pointedly asked Hermione what she and Krum were planning on dressing as. Granger had gotten that haughty look on her face, that Draco found himself admiring when it wasn't directed at him, and informed Weasley that she didn't know yet, but they were meeting for lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and would talk about it then. This had been news to Draco, and he didn't bother to hide his annoyance.

Though, to be fair, Draco and Granger had spent little time talking about anything related to their current situation over the past week. She had spent most of her time buried in the library, while Draco had similarly thrown himself into schoolwork. Their behavior had earned snarky comments from Blaise, until Draco had returned the jibes with a few of his own, pointing out that his association with Granger had only cemented his place as the second best student in school – while Blaise was clearly losing focus by juggling Viridian and Longbottom. Despite the time they spent on their work, Granger still managed to set aside a few hours before curfew each night. They spent the time in her room, and, despite a few foot massages, and another session of tickling torture, they engaged in hardly any physical activities. Instead they talked. Now that he wasn't fighting against his attraction to her, Draco found it surprisingly easy to not start an argument with her – at least in private. They spoke of their childhoods, and while Draco revealed far more about himself than he was comfortable with, there was still much that he kept locked away. She told him about the Muggle world, and they debated the nature of Muggle versus Wizarding philosophy. It was a pleasant way to spend the evenings, and Draco found himself content. Monday night, when Granger ushered him out of her room so she could go about her patrols, she had stood in her door, biting her lip, and looking so uncertain that he _had_ to kiss her. After that, it became part of their evening ritual, and Draco couldn't complain about the fact that every night the kiss lasted longer, and became more heated than the night before. Granger had yet to initiate anything, but she certainly responded enthusiastically to his own advances.

"What about this one?" Weasley stepped out, this time sheathed in a deep blue dress that clung to her torso and flared out past her hips to fall in graceful folds. The neck was wide and square, the sleeves long and fitted. It was trimmed in gold, and Draco had to admit, Weasley looked stunning in it.

"It's perfect," he said. Perhaps the only nice thing he had ever said to her – and ironically one of the most honest comments as well.

Weasley beamed at him.

"It is, isn't it? Oh, Harry's going to be so jealous…. Alright. Now it's your turn."

"What?"

"We've got to find your costume. You need to match me, of course… something light. Do you want to wear armor?" She frowned and tapped a finger against her lips. "No…maybe a tunic and leggings. And a sword. You have to have a sword."

Draco could feel his already miniscule goodwill dissipate quickly at the prospect of hours under her scrutiny,

"Weasley –"

"Ginny," she corrected absently as she returned to the fitting room.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"_Ginny_," he ground out. "We were planning on eating lunch today, weren't we?"

"Oh – of course. Shall we take a break and come back?"

Draco couldn't even begin to think of having to come back to this nonsense.

"No, no. Let's just finish."

Ginny reappeared dressed in her own clothes, and immediately swept through the shop. Draco was surprised that Gladrags carried so much… costume merchandise, but it seemed that they had made a special attempt to cater to the students at Hogwarts for this occasion. Draco really wished they hadn't. He owned a perfect set of dress robes – several, in fact – even in a color that would match Weasley's costume. He simply didn't see the point of dressing in a costume.

Weasley came back carrying an armload of clothes, and Draco grimaced at the sight.

"Here," she said and thrust them into his arms. "Go try them on." She pointed at the dressing room imperiously, and Draco made a promise to himself that when this was over, he would never speak to Weasley again. Unless it was to hex her.

Fortunately Weasley was easily satisfied when it came to his appearance. The second costume he tried on – a long, pale blue tunic under a gray leather vest trimmed with silver dragons, and a pair of blue leggings and knee high dark gray leather boots – had her clapping her hands in glee.

"Oh that's just _perfect_. You look wonderful, Malfoy. Now we just need a belt and a sword and we're done." She turned to look for the accessories.

"Weasley – Ginny," he added when she didn't turn around. "Just the belt. I can't very well dance with a _sword_ at my waist."

"Hm. Good point. Alright. Just a belt."

He changed back into his own clothes as she went in search of the last item and thanked Merlin that the whole episode was over.

His mother was infamous for her shopping sprees, but she had never been tempted to drag Draco, or Lucius along with her. As such, Draco had had no experience accompanying women to stores until he had started dating Pansy in his fourth year. He was very grateful to have been spared the experience for so long, and wished he had been able to avoid it altogether. He wondered if Granger was the same as Weasley. He found the idea implausible, at least as far as clothing was concerned. He could easily see her spending the rest of her life in a bookstore if left to her own devices.

Draco approached the counter to pay for his purchases, Weasley at his side.

"Will these purchases be together, or separate?" Madame Therese. Draco could tell that witch was eager to be rid of them. She was also no doubt happy with the hefty commission about to come her way – neither of the costumes Weasley had chosen were of poor quality, and even he could tell that the spell work that had gone into their crafting was some of the best.

He looked over at Weasley as she started counting out money from her purse. And he felt a tug at his conscience. Even if Weasley could afford it… it was likely to be the only purchase she made for a very long time. Draco groaned, knowing what he was about to do and hating himself for it.

"Together," he finally said, earning a gasp of shock from Weasley and a smirk from Therese.

"Malfoy, I can afford my own things."

"Ginny, as my date for the Ball, it is only fitting that I see to your purchases. I was taught manners, you know."

"Along with all of the Dark Magic?" She joked weakly.

"Have these delivered to Hogwarts," Draco said. "The lady resides in Gryffindor Tower - her name is Ginny Weasley."

"And shall I have your costume delivered to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy?"

He nodded and passed over the sum for the purchases and the delivery.

"Have a wonderful day, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Weasley."

Together Draco and Weasley exited the shop.

"Malfoy - I really appreciate that. But – you do realize it's not a real date."

Draco turned to her in amusement.

"It isn't? Why, Miss Weasley, you've been leading me on this _entire_ time? How cruel you are."

Weasley looked confused for a moment, but then she smiled uncertainly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"No, really. I – I'm just doing this to get Harry to wake up. He's been so… distant with me. It's like he doesn't even care about me anymore."

"Weasley, as fascinating as that is, I don't care. Your troubles with Potter are your own – I have no interest in the matter."

She frowned but stopped talking.

"Now, shall we go to the Three Broomsticks?"

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Why? Fancy spying on Hermione and Viktor?"

Draco scowled at her.

"No, I fancy decent food and a butter beer"

She shrugged and he guided them towards the pub.

Draco spotted Granger and Krum instantly. They were sitting towards the back of the pub, near a window that had a good view of the street. He noticed, with some amusement, that Granger had again taken the seat with the wall at her back, forcing Krum to sit with his back to the door. He wondered how many times the wizard had glanced over his shoulder.

Granger looked up as she took a sip of butter beer and their eyes locked. She smiled, and Draco found himself smirking in response. Krum turned at the change in her expression. His eyes landed on Draco and his expression turned dark.

Draco led Weasley towards their table.

"Malfoy, I don't think they want company," she hissed at his side.

"He might not. But look how relieved _she_ is," he pointed out smugly. And it was true. Granger was already standing to greet them. Krum reluctantly got to his feet.

"Hi," Granger said brightly. "Do you two want to join us?"

"Herrmione –" Krum still had trouble with her name, it seemed. He elongated the first part, making it sound like a purr.

"Malfoy –" Weasley grabbed onto his arm.

"Of course," Draco said and pulled up a chair to sit between Granger and Krum. Weasley rolled her eyes and waited while Krum pulled out a chair for her and positioned it opposite. Draco supposed he should have been the one to do that, but his manners, it seemed, only extended so far.

"Well, we've just been shopping," Draco said and took a chip from Granger's plate. "What about you two?" Granger looked at him questioningly. Draco, while not as uptight about table manners as Blaise, was still very proper at meals. He had never before taken something from her plate, or anyone else's for that matter. However, the look on Krum's face as he took in the seemingly familiar gesture was worth it.

"Ve vere just discussing the Ball," Krum said, obviously going for casual indifference. Draco smirked. He was a master at casual indifference.

"Oh? Finally decided on what to go as? I must say, Ginny looked stunning in her costume." Weasley blushed at the compliment and Granger scowled.

"Herrmione is still undecided. She is very busy to be thinking of such small things." Krum looked over at Granger, and his regard for her was obvious. Malfoy frowned when she smiled back at him.

"What do we have here?"

Blaise, trailed by Longbottom, came to a stop beside their table.

"I was just telling Neville I hoped we would have some company for lunch. Mind if we pull up a table?" Without waiting for an answer, Blaise summoned another table and chairs over. Draco adjusted his chair so that he was now sitting beside Granger, and Blaise and Neville filled in the other seats. Krum looked livid.

"Ah, Hermione, is this your date, the famous Viktor Krum?" Blaise stood and held out a hand to the surly Bulgarian. "I'm Blaise Zabini, Head Boy. I have the pleasure of sharing quarters with the lovely Miss Granger."

Draco rolled his eyes but Krum shook Blaise's hand with obvious reluctance. It seemed like a struggle for Blaise to finally pull his hand free. Longbottom looked between them in amusement.

"I heard you were moving to Britain to play for one of our teams," Weasley spoke up, twirling her hair around one finger.

Krum turned towards her in obvious relief.

"Yes. I vas offered a spot vith the Falmouth."

"The Falcons? That's wonderful. They're a really aggressive team – just your style."

Granger choked on her butter beer and Krum actually blushed. Weasley smirked.

"Hey, you lot."

Draco looked up and was amused to see Potter, Weasley, and Lavender Brown approaching them. Weasley was laden with bags, and he had no doubt that Brown had turned him into her personal pack mule.

"Mind if we join?" Potter asked.

"Not at all," Blaise said and gestured to Weasley's end of the table. Potter pulled up a table and Draco rolled his eyes – didn't he ever remember that he was a wizard? – and Ginny moved aside to sit by Krum, while Potter sat by her. Weasley took the seat beside Granger, and Lavender sat on the end, pouting as her boyfriend sat beside his former girlfriend.

"Well, this is nice," Blaise remarked. "Ah – Rosemerta! A round of butter beers, please. And… anyone else care to order food?" He looked around and received nods from everyone but Granger and Krum.

When it was Draco's turn to order he waved the witch on.

"I'll just share with Hermione," he said. Krum's face darkened even further, while most of the table's occupants looked at Draco in astonishment.

Beside him Granger just rolled her eyes. She reached out and snagged a chip just as he reached for it.

"So, everyone looking forward to the ball?" Blaise asked, obviously appointing himself the host of this gathering.

Draco leaned back in his chair and reached under the table. He brushed his hand along Granger's leg. She immediately reached under and swatted his hand away. He caught it and held it in his own.

Granger shot him an exasperated look, but he smirked back at her. After a moment she relaxed and he started to rub circles on the back of her hand, enjoying the feel of the smooth skin.

The others talked around them, but Draco couldn't bring himself to care what was being discussed. Beside him, Hermione was biting her lip – and just the sight of it made him want to kiss her. Here, in front of everyone.

"Ve should be going," Krum said as he glared at Draco and abruptly stood.

Granger jerked her hand out of his.

"Viktor, everyone else just got here," she pointed out.

He scowled, but did not sit back down.

"I know, but ve planned to find these costumes today. And I still have to get your birthday present. Please, I vould like to spend time alone with you. You see them all the time."

Granger stood, his plea working instantly. She walked around everyone and stood beside Krum. The Bulgarian smirked at Draco.

"Enjoy your lunch," Granger said, and they departed.

It was a moment before the conversation at the table continued.

Beside him, Blaise looked concerned.

"I think he won that one, mate."

Draco glared at him.

"What do I care? She doesn't even like him."

"Right. That's why they're holding hands. Because she doesn't like him."

Draco followed Blaise's eyes and looked out of the window to see the two of them walking down the street. Holding hands. He clenched his own.

She made a fuss about him taking Weasley to the Ball, but she got to parade around with Krum _holding hands_?

"Malfoy, you alright?" Potter seemed concerned.

"Fine," he growled and pulled Granger's plate over in front of him.

"You found a date for the Ball yet, Potter?" Blaise asked.

Potter turned red.

"Yeah. I'm taking Luna."

"Loony?" Weasley asked, a cruel smirk on her face.

Potter scowled.

"Good choice," Blaise said. "She's one of the prettiest girls in the school. Smart, too." He saluted Potter with his butter beer.

Draco sent his friend a look of concern. What was Blaise doing? But the dark haired Slytherin was already looking at Draco, expectant.

"She is," he found himself agreeing. "And… very interesting to talk to."

Potter looked confused by their endorsement, but Weasley was practically fuming. Draco suddenly understood Blaise's goal.

"Right," Ron Weasley agreed, the look on his face making it clear he didn't really believe what he was saying.

"She's not _that_ pretty," Weasley snapped.

"No," Brown agreed. "But she is… interesting." It seemed that even Brown didn't care for the youngest Weasley.

Weasley turned on Potter.

"Harry, was there really no one else you could have asked?" She sounded concerned, but Draco could tell she was just baiting him.

"No one else I wanted to take," Potter answered, his eyes steady as they looked at her. "I'm honored Luna agreed to come with me."

There was a moment of silence, and then Weasley scraped her chair back and left the table in a rush. Everyone turned to Potter, but he just sat and took another sip of his butter beer.

"You aren't… going to go after her?" Ron Weasley asked.

"No," Potter said and reached over to take a chip from Hermione's abandoned plate. Draco glared at him, but Potter was unrepentant.

"Er… picked out a costume yet?" This was from Longbottom.

Potter grinned crookedly.

"Yeah. We went shopping this morning. It's…" he shrugged. "It's a Muggle thing."

Since everyone else at the table was a pure-blood, they were instantly fascinated.

"What?" Lavender Brown asked.

"Robin Hood and Maid Marian," Potter said at last. Everyone looked at him blankly and he sighed.

"Alright. It's a fairy tale, I guess. So, you know who Richard I was, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"We're not idiots, Potter. We know our history. Do you?"

Potter frowned.

"The Wizarding world didn't break fully from the Muggle World until after 1234. Don't you pay any attention in History of Magic?" Potter's face made it clear that he did not, in fact. Draco rolled his eyes. "Your Pope declared that all those suspected of witch-craft should be tried and punished with burning at the stake."

"Not _my _Pope, Malfoy," Potter growled. "Anyway. So you know about Richard. He had a younger brother –"

"John Lackland. We _know_."

"While Richard was fighting in the Crusades, John was left in charge of the kingdom. But he was evil, and the land became lawless. Nobles stole from the poor and forced them into slave labor. However, one of Richard's knights, Robin Hood, gathered a band of men together and they fought against John. They stole from the rich and gave to the poor."

"And Maid Marian?" Lavender Brown enquired, leaning forward and looking enthralled. Draco rolled his eyes. Of course Potter would choose someone so idiotically heroic.

"His love. She was pursued by King John, but she held out and was rescued by Robin Hood." Potter shrugged.

"How Romantic…" Brown sighed and turned to Ron Weasley. "I wish _you_ had thought of something that perfect."

Ron scowled and shot a Potter a look.

Draco smirked.

Food finally arrived for everyone else, and they tucked in. Draco spent the time glaring out the window, trying to catch sight of Granger and Krum.

"You're pathetic," Blaise muttered beside him.

Draco scowled at his friend and stood, bored with watching them eat and impatient to track down Granger. He threw a few Galleons on the table and left.

It didn't take long to find them. He had just exited the pub when he saw them coming out of the Quill shop, Krum carrying a bag bearing the store's insignia. Draco scowled and crossed the street to meet them.

Granger was smiling up at Krum, and Draco really felt the urge to punch the other man as he reached for her hand.

"Granger – it's nearly time to round up the students and get them back to Hogwarts."

She looked over at him, her smile fading slightly.

"Already?"

"Nearly," he assured her. In truth, it was getting close to two in the afternoon, and the scheduled end for the Hogsmeade visit.

She turned to Viktor.

"Thank you, Viktor. I had a wonderful time today."

"So did I." Krum brushed her hair back from her face and hugged her. "I vill pick up our costumes from the store, and have yours delivered," he said as they pulled away.

Granger smiled.

"Thank you. I'm very excited. And thank you so much for my birthday present."

Krum passed over the bag.

"It vas my pleasure. I vish you had let me get something more."

"This is perfect," she assured him.

Krum looked over at Draco, and the warning in his dark eyes was clear.

"I vill see you next Saturday," Krum said. He leaned forward and kissed Granger on the cheek and then walked away.

She stared after him for a moment before turning to Draco. She arched an eyebrow.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself," she said.

He sneered.

"I didn't have nearly as much fun as _you_ did, I'm sure. You and Krum are awfully cozy."

"We've known each other for years." She didn't seem fazed by his anger in the least.

"I thought you were just friends."

"We are," she assured him.

"I don't see you walking around holding hands with Potter or Weasley."

Granger sighed and then held out her hand. Draco stared at it.

"What?" He asked.

"Hold my hand, if you want. We can round up the students together."

Draco sneered.

"I'm not going to walk around holding your hand."

She dropped it back to her side instantly. He saw hurt flash across her eyes before she blinked and looked at him steadily.

"Fine. Then don't complain about who I do hold hands with."

"I don't want you to hold hands with anyone," he said.

She scowled.

"Well, that's too bad. I like holding people's hands. It comforts me. And if you aren't willing to hold mine in public, then I'm just going to have to find someone else to hold my hand."

And with that she turned on her foot and walked away.

Draco watched her go and couldn't believe what had just happened.

The girl was completely insufferable.

* * *

Blaise arrived at Viridian's office five minutes late for their meeting. He had never been late before – to class or one of their meetings. He had a feeling that Viridian valued punctuality, and he had no doubt that he would be held accountable for his tardiness.

The problem, of course, was that Blaise had been late because of Neville.

Blaise wiped a hand across his mouth, praying that it didn't look as though he had just been snogging someone for the last hour.

He knocked.

"Enter," Viridian called after a moment.

Blaise opened the door and stepped inside, unsure of his welcome. Viridian was seated at the fireplace already, a cup of tea in hand. He arched an eyebrow and Blaise closed the door and quickly took a seat.

He was taken aback to see that Viridian had already prepared a cup for him, and felt a wave of guilt. He immediately squashed it and met Viridian's piercing gaze.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor. I had to speak with some of the prefects." Just the one, actually, but it was the best he could come up with.

"Hm. The visit in Hogsmeade went well," Viridian said. "No fights. No Death Eater attacks."

Blaise smiled weakly. He had been half convinced that there _would_ be an attack, and had been incredibly grateful there had not. Although, considering how Granger and Draco were, once again, back to scowling at each other and trading insults…perhaps an attack would have been nice. At least it shut them up for a while.

"I suppose Weasley finally finished his detentions," Blaise said, thinking it was a safe topic. For his part in the 'prank' Weasley had been given a week's worth of detentions with Viridian. He wondered what the Gryffindor had done – he doubted that Viridian would trust him with grading.

"Yes. And the suits of armor in this castle have never been so well polished."

Blaise smirked at the look on Viridian's face.

They sat in silence for a while, and Blaise couldn't help but look over the other man. Once again admiring his lean, toned body and the easy way he exuded confidence and power. Viridian was amazingly attractive, and obviously experienced.

So why was he even bothering with Neville? Viridian was so clearly the better choice. He and Blaise were suited to each other, at least for this: they appreciated power and the struggle for it. All of their sexual encounters had revolved around that give and take. Blaise _knew_ how to act in those situations. He knew the protocol, he knew the rules, and he knew how to break them. But Neville: the Gryffindor was in every way the antithesis of Viridian. He was funny, open, teasing, light. While he was confident, Blaise could tell that the Gryffindor really was out of familiar territory, and he was convinced that he was Neville's first attempt at a homosexual relationship. Blaise was undeniably attracted to him, and the thought of being his first was intoxicating. But… it also had him holding back.

"Blaise."

He looked up and met Viridian's eyes. The older man was looking at him intently.

"Something troubling you?"

That was an invitation to ruin his life if ever there was one. Blaise drew a deep breath and forced all thoughts of Neville from his mind.

"Just wondering if we've moved past the student-teacher part of the meeting."

Viridian smirked.

"And still you have no patience."

"Can you really blame me?" Blaise smirked and set down his tea cup. "But, if you aren't interested…"

"I think you know just how interested I am, Blaise." Viridian's voice was deep and Blaise swallowed as the man rose from his seat. "I would like to take you to my personal quarters," Viridian said.

Blaise arched an eyebrow.

"And here I was looking forward to getting fucked on your desk."

"Another time," Viridian assured him.

Blaise stood and followed Viridian through a door on the wall opposite the fireplace. They emerged into quarters that, Blaise realized, until recently had belonged to Snape. Blaise looked around, looking for anything that might remind him of his former head of house.

It was sparsely decorated, but, like Viridian's office, the dark wood of all the furniture was highly polished, and everything was upholstered in plush, rich fabrics. Bookcases lined the walls, and a desk faced a window that overlooked the grounds. Blaise crossed to it and looked out, surprised to see that they were rather high up in the castle. Nowhere near the dungeons or the lake. He turned and took in the fireplace along one wall, and the chairs placed in front of it. To his left there was a door that Blaise was confident led to the bedroom. He looked over at Viridian.

"This desk, then?" He asked with a smirk.

Viridian growled and pulled Blaise against him, kissing him fiercely.

"I was _trying_ to be polite and take you on my bed. But if you insist, I can certainly give you the rough time you're clearly hinting at."

Blaise realized, quite suddenly, that Viridian really was trying to be _nice_. He swallowed hard as he realized that the dynamic of their relationship had changed. Blaise had been out for a good time – an exciting and almost illicit affair with his dangerous professor. And while he admired and respected the man immensely, he had never thought to make it…personal. Clearly Viridian was of a different mind.

"You do realize I enjoy a rough time," he pointed out, treading carefully.

Viridian arched an eyebrow.

"I never said I was going to be _delicate_, Zabini."

Blaise smirked.

"Just so we've got that clear."

Viridian gestured and the door opened before them. The older man tugged Blaise into the dark room beyond.

A fire roared to life in the hearth and provided a warm glow to the room. Blaise took in the four-poster that dominated the room. The duvet was in classic Slytherin green, the pillows accented in silver. For some reason, he found this incredibly comforting.

"I like it," Blaise said and smirked at Viridian, noticing that the other man was back to looking at him in that same intent way as before.

"Hm. So glad you approve." Viridian kissed him again, and Blaise gave in wholly this time. He enjoyed the constant battle for dominance between them, especially when they kissed.

Viridian pulled away and his eyes were filled with desire.

"Undress," he commanded Blaise, his voice hoarse.

And then there was that. As much as Blaise enjoyed battling for control, the ease with which Viridian commanded him was intoxicating. In all of his previous encounters, Blaise had been the aggressor, and he had enjoyed the role. Having Viridian order him about was new, and Blaise had always enjoyed trying new things.

Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt, feeling Viridian's eyes on him the whole time and he felt a surge of excitement. Viridian might be telling him what to do, but it was clear that the older man was enthralled.

Blaise pushed the shirt down his arms and then moved to his trousers. He undid the belt and then the zip. He pushed them down his hips and stood, facing his professor in just his boxers.

Viridian arched an eyebrow.

"I don't think you've finished yet," he said.

Blaise hooked his thumbs under the waistband and pulled them down.

The appreciation evident in Viridian's gaze was heady. Blaise felt his throat grow dry as the other man looked him over, from head to foot, his gaze lingering on Blaise's erection for a long while.

After a moment, Viridian's eyes locked onto his, and Blaise didn't even need to hear the command to know what he wanted next. He closed the distance between them and started to undress his professor. He was methodical: each button he undid, each new expanse of flesh he revealed, he took the time to kiss, lick, and bite. By the time he had finally removed Viridian's shirt the other man was breathing heavily.

Blaise knelt in front of him and looked up, gaze locked on Viridian's, as he undid his trousers and pushed them down. Without looking away he pulled down the other man's boxers, and in one swift movement took Viridian's erection completely into his mouth.

The Defense professor groaned and his eyes closed as he gripped Blaise's head tightly, pulling his hair just hard enough for the pain to register.

"Merlin, but you're good at that Zabini." Viridian allowed him a moment to lave his cock and then stepped back, keeping a hand on Blaise's shoulder to keep him from following.

Viridian stepped out of his clothes.

"On the bed," he said and Blaise rose to his feet. He backed towards the room's main feature and sat on the edge. Viridian's eyes were heavily lidded as they regarded him.

Blaise reached down and wrapped his hand around his own erection, pumping it forcefully.

If possible, Viridian seemed even more aroused by the sight of Blaise pleasuring himself.

The Slytherin groaned, the combination of Viridian's gaze and his own hand intense.

"Stop," Viridian commanded a moment later and closed the space between them, he pushed Blaise's hand away and replaced it with his own. "As I said, no patience." Viridian kissed him, pressing him back against the bed.

Viridian's hand was larger than his own, and the feeling of it wrapped around his erection was amazing. Blaise groaned into Viridian's mouth and the other man smirked and pulled back.

"What do you want, Zabini?"

Blaise looked up at him and clenched his jaw against another groan.

Slytherin sexual politics at their best and worst. In the end, someone always had to admit defeat before anyone could get satisfaction. Blaise had virtually no experience in being the one to surrender, but Viridian was doing a good job of putting him in his place. He gave a quick, almost painful tug that had Blaise jerking his hips upward. Viridian smirked.

"Well?"

"You know exactly what I want," Blaise ground out. He was hit with the sudden thought that sex with Neville would involve none of this. As much as Blaise enjoyed having another person writhe underneath him, even as much as he desired Viridian – Blaise was confident that Neville would be a uniquely different experience.

"Not good enough." Viridian seemed to be enjoying this prelude almost as much as he had enjoyed being sucked off by Blaise two weeks before.

"I want you to fuck me," he finally said.

"I thought as much." Viridian kissed him again, and Blaise could practically taste the other man's triumph.

When Viridian pulled away he summoned a dark jar from his nightstand and released Blaise.

The young Slytherin took the opportunity to pull himself farther onto the bed.

Viridian opened the jar and dipped his fingers inside, coating them with lubricant, and then turned back to Blaise. He pulled him back to the edge of the bed, so that his legs dangled off and his ass was barely touching the mattress. Viridian lifted one of his legs and hooked it over his shoulder. One hand returned to Blaise's erection, stroking it with the same intensity as before, while the other traced his entrance.

Blaise hissed as the man forced one finger inside, stretching him.

"So tight," Viridian said, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. He added another finger and touched against Blaise's prostate, causing the younger man to buck off the bed. "And sensitive." A third finger was added, and the pressure inside of him combined with Viridian's continued ministrations on his erection drove Blaise to the edge. He gasped at the feeling and clutched the duvet so hard his knuckles hurt.

Viridian removed the fingers swiftly, reaching for more lubricant and coating his own erection. He abandoned Blaise's erection to adjust his leg on his shoulder before pushing his other leg to the side, exposing the younger man to him.

Blaise watched as Viridian guided his erection towards him and felt the press of it against the tight bundle of nerves at his entrance. He swallowed hard.

"Blaise."

He opened his eyes and met Viridian's gaze. The older man entered him slowly, filling and stretching him. The feeling was so intense Blaise felt blackness creep into the corners of his eyes. Viridian moved out and then pushed back in, his movement forceful. Blaise groaned and forced himself to relax as the motion elicited a dull pain.

Viridian reached out and grasped Blaise's erection again, pumping him in the same slow rhythm as he pushed into his body.

Blaise could tell that Viridian was barely keeping himself in check: the older man was frowning slightly as he looked at their joined bodies and his mouth was set in a hard line.

"I thought we agreed I liked things a bit rough," Blaise finally said. Viridian looked up at him, and his eyes were filled with relief.

"Indeed you do," he agreed and slammed deep into Blaise.

"Merlin, you're huge," Blaise muttered and Viridian smirked. He increased his pace and Blaise could feel his orgasm building again.

"Come for me, Blaise. I want to hear my name."

His words alone sent Blaise over the edge.

"Viridian," he groaned as he ejaculated, still clutching at the sheets. A moment later Viridian thrust into him deeply and grunted.

Blaise felt the other man come inside of him, the hot spill of semen alien.

Viridian remained stationary for a moment, but then he pulled out and his gaze returned to Blaise's face.

"That was most satisfactory," he said, wordlessly casting a cleansing spell on himself and Blaise.

The younger Slytherin smirked.

"Not exceeds expectations?"

Virdian chuckled.

"Had this been an exam, I assure you, you would have gotten the highest marks possible."

"Hm." Blaise closed his eyes and relaxed, enjoying the complete satiated feeling that always came after satisfying sex. He felt Viridian's hands ghosting across his body, tracing the planes of his chest.

"Thank you, Blaise."

He opened his eyes and regarded the other man. Viridian had turned quite serious.

"My pleasure," he responded, a little confused at the change in Viridian's mood. It made him a bit uneasy and he slid off of the bed and started to dress.

Viridian watched him with an arched eyebrow.

"Dinner's starting soon, I should go," Blaise said as he pulled up his trousers.

"I can order food brought here – or to my office," Viridian offered.

Blaise looked at him, and there was definitely something in the other man's eyes that Blaise had not expected. He felt a muscle in his jaw jump as he recognized the emotion.

"No, I can't leave Granger and Draco unsupervised," he said quickly.

Viridian arched an eyebrow at the excuse.

"I sincerely hope they haven't already killed each other," he added, thinking it was entirely plausible that they might have. Now that they were in 'relationship-not-really' territory things between them were tense, but in a new and much more dangerous way than before. He honestly wouldn't have minded a meal away from them. But he needed to get out of Viridian's rooms immediately, and they were a handy excuse.

"Some other time, then," Viridian said and crossed to an open doorway.

Blaise finished dressing by the time Viridian reappeared, a small jar in hand.

He held it out to Blaise.

"It should help with any… soreness you experience."

Reluctantly Blaise took the jar. He met Viridian's eyes and felt a rush of heat to his face as she saw the understanding in them.

"You knew."

Viridian shrugged.

"I guessed," he said.

Blaise nodded and looked away with a sigh.

While he had nothing against the idea of being a bottom, the truth was that he had no experience at it. He had always been the aggressor before, and he had never trusted any of his partners enough to put himself into such a vulnerable position. Especially the other Slytherins he had been with. As far as first times went, this certainly wasn't bad, but he appreciated Viridian's concern almost as much as he was shamed by it.

"Thanks," Blaise said and he understood why Viridian had expressed his gratitude earlier. If possible, he blushed even more. He needed to escape.

"I'll… just be going then. See you." Blaise saluted Viridian with the jar and then put it in his pocket and walked out of the bedroom without waiting for a response.

He made it to Viridian's office door before the Professor stopped him.

"Blaise."

He turned around reluctantly and arched an eyebrow.

Viridian frowned and stepped closer.

"Are you available Wednesday night?"

Blaise shook his head perhaps a little too vigorously.

"No, I've got patrols this week. And a lot of revisions to do with the end of term closing in."

Viridian took the excuse with a blank expression.

"Very well. Next Sunday, then."

Blaise nodded.

"Of course. Good night, sir."

And he fled.

* * *

Hermione managed to avoid speaking with Draco alone for most of the week. Blaise did an excellent job of running interference between them at mealtimes, his tone sharp when he interrupted the two of them in midst of an argument. While Hermione appreciated it on some level – she was so frustrated with Draco that at this point she might say something she would later regret – she also wondered if something wasn't bothering the Slytherin. Usually he regarded them with amusement, or at the worst, barely concealed irritation.

By Thursday she was tempted to take all of her meals with the Gryffindors again. As it was she was taking lunch with them, but dinner that evening was particularly difficult.

Eleanor and Stephan were only eating breakfast and lunch with Blaise and Draco, taking dinner instead with the same Hufflepuffs they had retreated to before. Which left dinner as just the three of them.

Hermione reflected that, all things considered, they were actually some of the most intimidating people in the school. For vastly different reasons, of course, but it was clear that no one was eager to try and join them when they were together. She wondered at that, and felt a little guilty. As the Head Boy and Girl, she and Blaise were supposed to be accessible to all of the other students. Still, she wouldn't exactly encourage someone to come up to her during dinner and start sobbing about a recurring nightmare that involved watching their best friend get killed by a Death Eater.

"I think the patrol schedule for Saturday works out," Blaise told her as they sat down to dinner.

"I tried to make everything pretty even," she said.

He smirked. "I did notice that you gave yourself more patrols. Are you sure Krum won't mind?"

She glared at him and Draco scowled.

"I'm sure he'll obediently follow her where ever she leads him. And hold her hand."

Hermione turned to him.

"I thought that was what you wanted in the first place, remember? For him to be around to _protect_ me?"

Draco clearly did not appreciate having his logic turned against him.

"Funny how Blaise and Longbottom are paired up for all of their patrols," he pointed out.

"Just because they happen to be each other's date is no reason to separate them. They make a good team."

Blaise looked amused by Draco's sour attitude. He turned back to Hermione.

" I still wish there was some way to check the identity of everyone… I don't think many are planning on wearing masks, but that doesn't mean someone might not try to use a glamour or Polyjuice."

"I tried to talk to McGonagall about security. She thought I was concerned with reporters." Hermione rolled her eyes, still frustrated by that conversation. She thought McGonagall was trying too hard to make sure Hogwarts was seen in a positive light, and that it was blinding her to other things. At the same time, she could sort of understand why one student being concerned about security for no perceivable reason could be overlooked.

If only Draco would _tell_ someone. As it was, he had received another letter that morning. His stalker was looking forward to the Ball, and whatever petty defenses Draco tried to throw at him this time.

"I wonder… do you think it will be _him_ or another lackey?"

Draco frowned.

"Logic would dictate another lackey. But something tells me he'll want to do this in person. It's one thing to attack me in Hogsmeade. But to infiltrate Hogwarts and do it right under McGonagall's nose is another. I think he won't pass up that opportunity."

Blaise nodded in agreement.

"Which is good for us. We just need to catch him."

"Before he kills Draco," Hermione added.

"Preferably," Blaise said with a smirk. "I gathered that _you_ were rather looking forward to doing that yourself."

"I'm right here," Draco growled.

"And still acting like a git," Hermione muttered.

Draco glared at her.

"What, exactly, do you want me to do? I'm not about to start escorting you arm in arm to classes, or carry your books, or feed you at meals."

Her glare was just as intense.

"I'm not handicapped, Draco. I don't see why it's so difficult for you to show me _some_ kind of affection in public. You've got no problem arguing with me when everyone else can see."

Draco sneered.

"I'm very sorry to disappoint you, Granger, but not all of us feel the urge to broadcast to the world our personal business."

Hermione forced herself to count to ten before responding.

"I'm not asking you for any of those things," she finally pointed out.

He arched an eyebrow.

"No, you just want the whole school to acknowledge the fact that you and I are –we aren't even anything, Granger. There _isn't _even anything to acknowledge." And with that he shoved away from the table and left.

Hermione tried to ignore the hurt his words caused. They were, in many ways, true. There wasn't anything definable between them. But… she bit her lip. Would it really kill him to admit that he liked her?

"Granger."

She looked over at Blaise.

"Allow me to give you a lesson in Slytherin politics."

"Blaise, I'm not –"

He held up a hand and she closed her mouth, arching an eyebrow as she did. He had a look of arrogant self-righteousness on his face that even she knew not to argue with.

"You Gryffindors might be able to go around and parade your relationships in the public's eye – you even expect it and it seems to give you pleasure. We aren't like that. Not just Slytherins, but most of the old, pureblood families. If you show any special attachment to someone, it makes them a target." He held up a hand to forestall her comment. "This isn't about the stalker, not entirely. This is… it's practically subconscious at this point for Draco. If you're seen as one of his weaknesses, someone can exploit that. Even if it's just to gain the upper hand in a single situation. Knowledge is power, Granger – and anyone who knows that you mean something to him can use it against him."

"But the whole school knows we don't hate each other anymore. We're very obviously no longer enemies."

"True, but, to an outsider, you aren't friends either. Draco appears to tolerate you, and even appreciate you on occasion. But – look, in Transfiguration, aren't you two paired together?"

Hermione nodded.

"And? Does he act like your friend or like a prat?"

"He _is_ a prat," she pointed out, but sighed at his expectant look. "I get it. He doesn't want anyone else to see that we CAN work well together. But that's – it makes no sense."

"Sure it does. You see friends as a strength, right? The more you have, the better?"

She nodded.

"We see them as liabilities. There's a reason Draco and I are as close as we are, and there's a reason why we're just on speaking terms with everyone else in our house."

"What about you and Neville?"

Blaise's face closed.

"That is…very complicated. I can be friendly with him in public to a point." Blaise ran a hand through his hair. "This is the part you aren't going to like hearing."

"Because I've really liked everything else," she muttered.

Blaise smirked slightly.

"Neville's a pureblood, and he's a guy. He made a name for himself during the war, and his family has good connections. My… friendship with him will be seen as an alliance by others. It isn't really exploitable, because he's an asset." He waited for that to sink in.

"I rather made a name for myself during the war, as well."

"Of course. And your position as Harry Potter's best friend is another strength. But you're Muggleborn, and you're a girl. You know our society is traditional and extremely patriarchal. However contrary the truth is, you still _appear_ to be a liability instead of an asset. You aren't a useful alliance… not until you've gone off and invented the cure for lycanthropy or something. Or helped stop the next Dark Lord. Whichever comes first."

"What about Pansy? They were never shy about showing their affection."

Blaise smirked at that.

"Right. They were practically promised to each other since birth. It's the alliance thing – he wasn't showing affection to Pansy, he was showing it to her family and her status. And, if you notice, he never treated her with the regard that he's shown you. He put his arm around her, sure, but he was never polite to her. He acted the role as he should, but he never had a personal involvement with her. Not like with you – and that's why it's so hard for him."

Hermione sighed. As much as she wanted to argue with him – and she did,nearly everything he said went against everything she believed – she could still acknowledge that for Draco and Blaise, that was how they viewed the world.

"So I'm just supposed to… what? Argue with him in public and just be friends in private?"

"You don't have to argue. In fact, I would take it as a personal favor if the two of you started to get on better." He sighed and then leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. "Okay. You're the rule-breaking Gryffindor, right? So, you know the rules now. Figure out how to break them."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at this open invitation to destroy his own traditions.

"How, exactly, am I supposed to do that?"

"Think like a Slytherin, Granger. Something will come to you."

She rolled her eyes but then grinned at him.

"You aren't going to be excommunicated for telling me all of this, are you?"

"Only if you don't tell anyone."

"Blaise…what exactly IS happening with you and Neville?"

His gaze turned fierce.

"He's one of my closest friends, and I care deeply for him. And you're… you're sort of one of my top people too." He smirked at that, and then shook his head.

"Honestly? I've no fucking clue. Viridian is… getting _attached_."

He said the word as though it caused him pain, and Hermione frowned. She didn't know if this was another part of the society he lived in, another issue with liability, or if he was just genuinely uncomfortable to have so much of someone else invested in himself.

"And you?"

"I'm in it for the sex, Granger," Blaise said bluntly.

"So he actually _likes_ you and it totally freaks you out. I'm not sure where Neville comes in."

"Because… because he's a fucking liability." Blaise's jaw clenched tightly.

"Oh." She really wanted to hug him. He looked so uncertain and angry – more out of sorts than she had ever seen him. But their conversation forestalled any gesture she might have made.

"Blaise –"

"Granger, it's not something you can fix." He sighed. "Anyway, it will resolve itself eventually."

"But –"

"Seriously. I already regret telling you, don't make me talk about it any longer."

"Okay." She grinned. "But you and Neville are going to look awfully handsome as Cavaliers on Saturday."

Blaise smirked.

"Granger, I look handsome no matter what I'm wearing."

Hermione checked her watch and swore.

"Late for something?" Blaise asked in amusement.

"Nearly. I've got a meeting with Professor Smith."

"Hm. No wonder you weren't there half an hour early."

She frowned at him.

"What's wrong with Professor Smith?"

"Nothing if you fancy boring, dour men."

"He's really smart – and an excellent instructor."

"And not much more," Blaise pointed out.

Hermione shook her head in frustration.

"I've got to go. See you later."

She barely made it to his office before nine, and knocked on the door, still out of breath.

"Come in," he called out.

"Sorry," she said as she closed the door. "I got distracted at dinner."

Smith stood up from behind his desk and gestured for her to sit in their usual spots. He was dressed very casually in trousers and a blue shirt, the top two buttons undone. Hermione felt suddenly nervous.

She sat in her usual chair.

"How have your mediations been going?" He asked.

"Very well. I've gotten quite good at centering my core."

"That is excellent. I think you are ready for the next step. If you like, I have a spell that will help determine your form."

"Oh?"

He nodded.

"Although we both suspect it will be avian in nature, this will isolate what exactly you will transform as. With this knowledge, you can do all of the appropriate research, and start trying to see yourself as this new creature."

Hermione nodded eagerly and Smith chuckled.

"Excellent. If you care to stand. Now, go ahead and center yourself, as if you were meditated."

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply, concentrating on the flow of air as it passed through her body, and the feel of her magic, as it inhaled along with her. Finally she allowed herself to rest at the center of it all – the hum of her power and the beat of her heart creating an almost transcendent experience.

Vaguely she was aware of Smith moving towards her. She felt him cast a spell, the tug of his magic against her own subtle, yet insistent.

"Open your eyes," he said and his voice seemed very far away.

Slowly she followed his order and gasped.

The ghostly image of a bird seemed to hover in the air before her, wings flapping occasionally as though to keep it aloft. Though faint, she could see a blue tint to its gray back, and a blazingly white underbelly.

"I think it's a Peregrine," Hermione said, smiling as she remembered the first time she had spotted one with her father. It was a female, and had decided to make a nest in the woods near her grandmother's home.

"The fastest animal on the planet," Smith said. "For someone afraid of flying, you seem quite determined to do so."

She turned her smile to him and saw that he looked amused, and pleased.

He waved his hand to release the smell, and Hermione felt strangely bereft as she watched the creature dissipate.

"Excellent. I think I have a few new books for you." He laughed as her expression brightened. "If you're going to be a bird of prey, then controlling your animal instincts will be a bit more complicated than for usual animals. You aren't a scavenger or forager, after all. As a hunter, this is very unlike the way humans think. It's good that you have such a focused mind, else I would be concerned."

Hermione warmed at the compliment.

"I promise to do my best never to attack you during a transform," she teased as she recalled his own Animagus.

"I hold you to that, Miss Granger." He set down four volumes on the coffee table, and then gestured for her to resume her seat.

"I trust you are looking forward to Saturday's festivities," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Not nearly as much as everyone else, it seems."

"That is a shame. You should enjoy these last moments of childhood."

Hermione found herself laughing bitterly at that.

"I'm afraid I passed by those long ago."

He frowned.

"It is a crime for so many young witches and wizards to carry the burden of surviving a war, but you, at least, have the benefit of having been in the right. Surely you can see that your future is promising, you should not tie yourself to the past."

Hermione couldn't help but shake her head. It seemed that all of her professors were convinced she was wallowing in misery. To some extent, that was true – but she was _trying_ to put it behind her, and she didn't think her pain was that obvious.

"I appreciate your concern, Professor."

"Miss Granger – Hermione ."

His use of her name startled her.

"It would be a shame, for someone such as yourself, to let that happen. You have earned my respect, these past two months, and I value your intelligence, and your character."

Hermione resisted the urge to squirm, but she felt herself blush as he looked at her.

"I would like to make a request."

"Yes?"

"I would enjoy the opportunity to dance with you, at the Ball."

"Oh – of course, sir." Hermione was still a bit confused, but his request seemed so… ordinary.

Smith smiled and seemed genuinely pleased that she had agreed to such a trivial thing.

"Excellent. I have no doubt that you will be one of the most sought out witches. I simply wanted to assure myself of a chance."

Hermione blushed again.

"I don't think I will be _that_ popular, sir."

Smith smirked slightly.

"I fear you will be proven wrong." He stood and Hermione followed suit, picking up the books as she did.

"Thank you for these," she said. "I look forward to discussing them with you."

"Of course. Have a pleasant evening, Hermione."

She left his office, confused and half convinced that Smith had asked her for more than a mere dance.

Hermione made the walk back to her common room in peace, grateful not to have to break up any fights. Upon arrival, however, she almost turned back around and left.

Draco was inside, stretched out on the couch, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

When he saw her his expression did not change.

"Whatever did I do to earn this treat?" She asked sarcastically.

Draco was silent for a long moment, but then he sighed and got up from the couch. He crossed the room to stand in front of her.

Hermione looked up into his gray eyes and was surprised by the look in them. Draco was clearly struggling with himself, and his uncertainty melted some of her anger. She leaned towards him and he took her in his arms, pulling her close.

"Granger, I can't be who you want me to be."

"I gathered that." She sighed and pulled away from his warmth. "Draco - I don't… I'm not trying to change who you are. For reasons beyond me, I _like_ who you are.

Draco smirked and brushed her hair behind her ear. She leaned her face against his hand. He bent his head and kissed her, pulling on her lower lip gently until she opened her mouth under his. She sighed at the feel of his tongue brushing against her own. She loved the way he held her face when they kissed, loved the press of his warm lips on her own, the way he teased her lips before slipping his tongue inside her mouth, as though asking for permission.

"This is all I can give you, Granger," Draco said as they pulled apart.

"Draco," she felt part of her heart crack at the sincerity and regret in his voice.

"Granger, you know I care about you. But I can't do what you want me to do. I'm not Weasley. I'm not Krum."

"Why can Viktor hold my hand – but you can't?" She demanded, angry, as she recalled Blaise's earlier conversation. "If there really is all of this pureblood tradition and crap. All of that liability and weakness stuff – then why can HE hold my hand and you can't?"

"Because he's Viktor Krum! He wants to marry you, Granger, he can do that without anyone caring. He might be an international Quidditch star, but he doesn't have a title, and he doesn't have to appear untouchable. You're perfect for him, Granger."

Draco looked bitter and weary. "Hell, we don't even have – there's no understanding between us. I don't know what you want me to say."

"I'm not interested in Viktor," she said for what felt like the hundredth time, "and I'm not interested in getting married. I just want to be able to look at you and _smile_ without feeling like I'm committing a crime."

He sighed.

"Do you have any idea what would happen, if you did that?"

She shook his head, knowing she wouldn't like the answer.

"If Nott saw you smiling at me, the first thing he would do is tell Pansy. She, of course, will make sure the entire school knows you are a whore, who slept her way to her position as Head Girl and earned all of her grades in an unconventional way. And then Nott will gather up a few of his friends, and one night when you're doing patrols on your own, they'll corner you. They won't do anything too bad – not then – because they'll just want to see how much you mean to me. If I show absolutely no interest in your condition, then he'll do it again – and it won't be nearly as friendly. If, however, I do show my concern that first time, he will make every effort to publically deride you and force a confrontation between us. His position at the top of Slytherin is still very precarious – it's a house full of the next generation of Britains' wizarding peerage. I'm just the first to come into my title, but when the rest of them do, this will be remembered. Nott has to make it clear, now, before I gain any more power, that he can best me."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"Don't you understand – I'm not willing to do that to you. I grew up with these traditions, these politics – I _breathe_ them. But you can't possibly comprehend how easily it will be for them to hurt you."

Hermione swallowed and was forced to acknowledge the truth of his words. Draco really did care about her, it seemed. But the whole idea that his attachment to her was a weakness – that even he viewed it as such – was too much for her.

Draco kissed her again, and as he pulled away he pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Draco."

"Granger, _please_."

It was the first time he had ever used that word, and she knew he meant it.

"I can't – I can't do it. I can't hide my feelings for you – I understand what you're saying. I understand how threatening it is to you, and you are in enough danger as it is. But I – I really _can't_. I don't know how I'm supposed to just go on arguing with you and acting indifferent when all I want –"

Draco straightened and released her, taking a step back.

"Very well."

"Draco. I'm just saying I –"

"Granger, you're a Gryffindor. You wear your heart on your sleeve. There's no way you can just pretend we mean nothing to each other. I understand."

Draco's face closed, his mouth tightened, and his jaw set. Hermione watched as his eyes seemed to grow cold, and she opened to mouth to tell him that she _could_ do it. She could spend the rest of the year yelling at him and never give away that she was actually falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

He walked past her and out of the portrait before she could say another word.


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks for the reviews!

Another Chance

Chapter Fifteen

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror one last time and decided that, all things considered, she looked presentable.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders with thin gold ribbons woven through it, a garland of flowers upon her head. She wore a dress of white chiffon that just touched the tops of her knees in pleated, flowing waves. Gold braiding wrapped around her waist and criss-crossed on the bodice to form the straps of the dress. And on her back she wore a charmed pair of fairy wings – a delicate, golden, gossamer flutter as she walked. She wore delicate golden sandals, and had added a thin layer of gold dust to all of her visible skin, and her eye shadow was a dark bronze that made her eyes seem huge and luminous while her lips were petal pink and glossed to a pearlescent sheen. It was the most effort she had ever put into her appearance, more even than when she had attended the Yule Ball with Viktor her fourth year – and she had _liked_ him then.

Now, Hermione could admit to herself, all of this effort was entirely wasted. She cast the last charm of the night – tapping her wand lightly with her index finger – and watched as golden vines encircled the thin shaft of wood, sprouting miniature leaves near the tip. She smiled, pleased that she had been able to modify the transfiguration so that it didn't impede with her ability to cast with the wand. After all, it was entirely likely she would need to. She placed the wand in a pocket hidden by the folds of her skirt and drew in a deep breath before opening her door and facing her date for the evening.

Viktor was dressed entirely in shades of green, ranging from dark emerald to a lighter grass green. He wore dark leggings, brown leather boots, and a tunic of rich velvet, over which he wore a doublet of two shades of green, trimmed in gold. On his head he wore a crown of thorns and gold leaf. And he was looking at her as though he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Viktor?" She prompted when he still hadn't spoken a minute later.

"Herrmione… you are a goddess. I vill not be able to take my eyes off of you all night."

She found herself blushing at his sincere praise, and then immediately felt guilty. She was glad that she looked as nice as he said – she needed to, if she had any hope of catching Draco's attention and forcing his hand.

It had been just forty-eight hours since their last, catastrophic discussion, yet already Hermione felt bereft. Hermione had taken breakfast and lunch with Ron and Harry, both boys accepting her gladly and not bothering to ask _why_ she was changing her pattern. She was both grateful and irritated – did they truly not see how much she couldn't stand hearing them talk about Quidditch? Didn't they know that she thrived on the intense debates between Draco and herself? At dinner, Draco was achingly polite. They discussed Friday morning's Transfiguration class and their apprenticeships. Blaise kept a wary eye on them – but there was really no need. Draco's face was a mask of cool indifference, and everything he said was in clipped, bored tones that suggested he would rather be pulling out his own fingernails than actually engage her in conversation.

Hermione's half-formed plan was nearly hopeless, she knew, but it could only be helped by her looking fantastic. If Draco truly saw her as a liability, then she had to do everything she could to appear to be an asset. She knew she was a powerful witch, and she knew that she was already in an important position – as Harry's friend, as the Head Girl, and as the Muggleborn witch who had helped defeat Voldemort. She couldn't change the fact that she was a girl, or the chauvinistic views of the Pureblood world, but she could certainly make herself an _attractive_ girl.

She hoped that Draco would be able to admit that she was, in fact, not a liability and – or – that the way he had been raised to think was wrong. Barring that, she at least wanted him to realize that she was right there – and he was throwing away a chance to actually be happy.

Hermione sighed and held out her hand.

"Shall we?"

He nodded, still looking at her.

"Explain to me again who ve are," he said as they walked down to the Great Hall. "I have read Shakespeare, but not this Midsummer Night's Dream."

She smiled up at him.

"What have you read?" She asked.

"The usuals. Titus Andronicus, Julius Caesar, Pericles, Macbeth," he smiled and looked her in the eyes. "And the Vinter's Tale, of course."

She smiled back at him, but didn't bother to hide her confusion at his list of titles.

"Those are the…usuals in the Wizarding World?"

He nodded and frowned.

"It is not the same in your vorld? I know his plays vere performed for Muggles as vell as Vizards."

"Yes – but most of those plays you listed aren't very popular. Anyway, A Midsummer Night's Dream is a comedy – and we are dressed as Titania and Oberon, the king and queen of the fairies."

"Thank you, for not making me vear vings. Though you look… amazing."

She smiled and laughed at his earnest look.

"Anyway, they are always cross with each other – making bets and fighting over…things."

He frowned.

"But I would never fight vith you, Herrmione."

"I know, but it's more poetic if we go as this couple. I've always admired Titania," she said after a moment. And then she mentally berated himself when Viktor nodded, seemingly content with her explanation.

It was true that from the first, Hermione had thought to dress as Titiania. Of course, she had had rather a different idea of who Oberon would be… but Viktor had liked the idea of being a king, and the look on his face now, as he looked her over again, warmed her from the inside out. Even if Draco didn't appreciate her effort, at least her date would.

They arrived at the Great Hall just as the majority of the students were arriving. McGonagall had contracted Weird Sisters, the same band that Dumbledore had hired to play during the Yule Ball four years ago, and they were warming up, it seemed.

The Great Hall had been cleared, a few tables were scattered around the perimeter, and chairs lined the two sides walls, while the band had assembled on the platform normally occupied by the staff table.

Students and professors seemed to be mingling, and Hermione looked for any of her friends. She spotted Harry and Luna first, and couldn't help but smile. Harry was listening avidly to whatever Luna was saying and nodding along. Hermione was willing to bet it was a conversation on some imaginary beast, but Harry looked captivated. He cut a dashing figure in his Robin Hood costume and feathered cap, complete with a quiver of arrows on his back. And Luna looked beautiful in the pale green dress she wore. Hermione was very glad she had convinced Harry to ask Luna – they made a very handsome couple.

"You spotted snakes with double tongue, thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; newts and blind worms, do no wrong, come not near our fairy queen."

Hermione turned at the sound of the familiar voice and gasped as she took in Blaise and Neville's costumes.

"You two are going to break the heart of every girl here tonight," she admonished them. Neville blushed a bit at her praise but Blaise merely smirked.

With their feathered hats tipped forward rakishly and their short cloaks thrown over one shoulder they looked similar, but very different. Blaise was dressed entirely in black, but the rich fabrics and trims of his garments made him look exquisite, and Neville was dressed in red and gold and looked the true Gryffindor.

"You know, Viktor and I were just discussing that Midsummer wasn't read by many wizards," she said to Blaise, impressed and touched that he had quoted the play.

He shot Viktor an amused look before answering Hermione.

"Not really, but I read nearly anything I can get my hands on. For some reason, wizards tend to prefer his darker, bloodier works." Blaise shrugged. "The performances are certainly more exciting than the Muggle ones. I'm surprised you didn't have him dress as Nick Bottom."

Hermione glared at him and Blaise chuckled.

"Titania belongs with Oberon," she stated simply at Viktor's curious look.

"I agree," Blaise said, and it was clear that he too had a different Oberon in mind than the one she had arrived with.

There was a sudden, deafening crash of drums and en masse the students turned to the front of the hall.

McGongall stood before them, dressed entirely in white, from her robes to a mantle of white silk on her head and even a white tinge to her face. It almost seemed as if she was covered, from head to foot, in frost.

Hermione gasped.

"I can't believe McGonagall reads C.S. Lewis."

Both Neville and Viktor looked confused, but Blaise chuckled.

"I can't believe she dressed up as a villain. But, you know, she didn't dress up at all, really."

"What do you mean? Are you calling McGonagall evil?" Hermione demanded with a look of mock indignation.

"No – I'm just saying. McGonagall is a witch, and then she showed up dressed as a witch."

"Students, faculty, and guests. I welcome you to this year's Halloween Ball, a tradition we have long neglected at Hogwarts, and which I hope will serve as a chance for students of all houses to mingle and find the opportunity to enjoy each others company. On this night when we remember those who have passed, let us also look to the future and take pleasure in our circumstances. But," she cautioned with a slight smile, "not TOO much pleasure."

There was an appreciative chuckle from the students, and then McGonagall gestured for the band to begin playing.

Hermione was rather baffled by wizarding music in general, but all of the students raised in the wizarding world whooped with delight at the song and began dancing.

"Herrmione, vould you like to dance?" Viktor asked.

"I would love to," she said and smiled up at him after glaring at Blaise when he smirked.

Viktor guided her towards the center of the dance floor, and Hermione was surprised and embarrassed when the other couples moved aside to let them pass. Viktor pulled her into his arms and they waltzed to a song that, had Hermione been in the Muggle world, would have required a considerably more enthusiastic paced dance.

"I am very happy you came vith me," Viktor said and she looked up at his warm eyes.

"So am I," she said, hating herself for it being only partially true. She sighed and forced herself to relax. Viktor was an accomplished dancer, and Hermione rarely had the chance to put all the dance lessons from her youth to good use.

It was several songs later that they finally left the dance floor for a break. She guided Viktor towards Harry and Luna, now joined by Ron and Lavender. She took in the new couple and had to fight back a laugh. Ron looked terribly uncomfortable in his costume, and Lavender had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot, a sure sign of irritation. Hermione guessed that they were dressed as King Arthur and Lady Guinevere, and was amused at the popular theme – it seemed that nearly an eighth of the students had chosen that same couple as their inspiration.

Ron caught sight of her and his jaw dropped. Lavender stopped tapping her foot and glared. Harry grinned and Luna got a dreamy expression on her face.

"Hi," she greeted them.

"Hermione, you look bloody fantastic," Harry said.

Ron made some sort of guttural noise and finally closed his mouth.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Lavender demanded.

"Ve are King Oberon and Queen Titania of the Fairies," Viktor said proudly, as if he had any idea what he was talking about. Hermione smiled to herself.

"Oh… Hermione, I think you've got a Shrink Nosed Moon Skate on your back," Luna said, her expression still dreamy.

Hermione fought to keep a straight face.

"Um, no, actually it's just charmed wings."

"Oh." Luna smiled and looked relieved. "That's wonderful. Moon Skates are known for sucking the blood of their victims until they die. It would be terrible if that happened to you."

Hermione nodded solemnly and caught Harry's eye. He was looking at Luna with a mixture of bewilderment and fondness. Ron snorted and even Lavender laughed. Luna turned to Viktor.

"You dance ever so well," she said to him.

Viktor blinked at the compliment.

"Thank you," he said at last and then turned to Harry. "Vould you mind switching partners for once dance?" He asked.

Harry shook his head and Viktor turned to Hermione. She smiled at him and he held out his hand to Luna.

"Oh. Thank you. I'm Luna," she said as she took his hand and they walked onto the dance floor.

"Viktor Krum."

"Oh. Then I guess you survived the lethifold attack…" and then they were out of earshot.

Hermione turned to Harry and he was smiling.

"What a freak," Lavender muttered. Harry's expression instantly fell, and even Ron looked irritated.

"She is not," Hermione said. "Luna just sees the world a bit differently." Even Hermione had learned to accept the Ravenclaw as she was. Sometimes she envied the girls belief in things she had never seen, but she had always admired her resolve to live her life as she chose – regardless of the disdain of others.

Lavender made a rude noise.

"Ronald, are you going to ask ME to dance?" She asked and Ron tore his gaze away from Hermione with a blush.

"Of course. Um – shall we?" He led her away and Hermione relaxed.

"You really do look great," Harry said again. She smiled at him.

"Thanks. So do you – and Luna, she's beautiful."

Harry nodded and then caught himself.

"I guess – I guess I'm still dating Ginny, at this point," he said with a frown. "I haven't even talked to her alone in weeks. She's just so _insistent _and… I just don't have the patience for her. And Luna is… amazing. I don't believe a word about what she talks about, but I could listen to her go on for hours. And she is really pretty."

Hermione nudged him with her shoulder.

"See? I _told_ you that it would be good for you."

He smiled. "And Hermione Granger is always right."

"Exactly. Oh." Hermione trailed off as she noticed Draco and Ginny enter. They made a very striking couple, and Hermione couldn't deny that Ginny was a perfect Guinevere. Draco, however… he took away her breathe. He looked confident and completely natural dressed as Lancelot: as arrogant as ever and more handsome than he had any right to be. Hermione sighed.

"You okay?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Just…wishing for what isn't."

Harry followed her gaze.

"What happened? I thought you two were…snogging in corridors and everything."

"I ruined it because I'm too much of a Gryffindor," she said bitterly.

"Uh-huh. I don't want to say I told you so, because you're obviously really upset. But, I never really get the chance to, you know. So… I _did_ tell you so."

Hermione elbowed him and Harry winced.

"I had to, sorry. Anyway, he looks all pale and washed out… really, Krum's much more handsome."

"Thanks, Harry. That was very convincing."

He shrugged.

"I don't think you dressed up like that just to stand here all night," Blaise commented as he and Neville approached.

Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"Is that Slytherin for want to dance?"

Blaise inclined his head and held out his hand. Hermione smiled and took it.

"Be back soon," she told Harry over her shoulder.

Hermione was twirled across the dance floor and then abruptly snapped back into Blaise's arms just as the next song started. She rolled her eyes.

"You do look very nice," he said.

"Thank you. I do know how to clean up, you know."

"I know. I think everyone does. You know you're stunning as it is – but this is a very impressive transformation nonetheless."

"Stop, Blaise, or you might have a third party after your heart."

He frowned and looked over her head, no doubt at Neville.

"You Gryffindors are awfully complicated," he said eventually, winning a chuckle from her.

"We are rather," she agreed. "And it's such a shame, considering that here you Slytherins go around as such open books…"

"Admit it, Granger, you love the snark and the pretense."

She shrugged and scanned the hall for Draco. He and Ginny were dancing a few couples over, and after a moment Draco looked up and their eyes caught. There was nothing of the cool disdain in his eyes now, they were practically burning into hers, and she had to look away to resist the urge to do anything rash.

"Any sign of suspicious persons?" Blaise asked after another perfectly executed twirl.

"No. In fact, I think it's really interesting that so many people have their faces uncovered – so, if he is somewhere here, he's got to be using Polyjuice. Maybe we should check to make sure no one is carrying a flask – intent on spiking the punch or something."

"I'll talk to Neville about that. I think… Granger, what if they don't need Polyjuice."

She frowned as she looked up at him.

"As in, they have a legitimate reason to be here and don't need a disguise?"

Blaise nodded and he looked troubled.

Hermione sighed.

"I've thought of that too… you would know better than I what the Slytherins are capable of. I don't think any Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs – not even Megan Jones – would have the nerve or the brains to do this."

"Ravenclaws?"

"I don't know…I really don't want to think about the possibility of it being a staff member, either."

"Yeah, well, Ockham's razor – all things considered, the simplest explanation is the most logical."

She arched an eyebrow at that.

"So the easiest explanation is that a staff member broke into Azkaban, killed Lucius, obliviated a Death Eater and forced an attack and then cursed a snitch." She shook her head. "That only works for the last – the rest… that's rather complicated."

"But…I'm just having trouble coming up with who this could be. You said Snape said not to be certain it was a Death Eater – but that leaves so many people who it could be. It isn't like Draco is going to be named humanitarian of the year any time soon."

Hermione smirked at the very idea.

"All we can hope is that we get him tonight, or he gives us a clue, or… Blaise, you _are_ keeping an eye on him, aren't you?"

Blaise smirked.

"Him? No way. My orders were to look after you."

"Then who is watching Draco?!"

"Neville."

Hermione arched an eyebrow and felt a wave of irritation. If Draco managed to get himself killed tonight she would never forgive him. Blaise should have been watching him – Hermione had more than enough people who would notice her missing.

"Please explain to me why Neville is watching Draco, while you, his best friend, are watching _me_."

Blaise shrugged.

"So he wouldn't go mad. Made me promise I wouldn't let you out of my sight, actually, on threat of castration."

"Oh." Hermione felt her anger dissipate. He was trying to protect her. Idiot.

"I think you've got another rival for your affections, Granger," Blaise said.

Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Professor Smith approaching.

"Mind if I cut in, Mr. Zabini?" He asked as he approached.

Blaise arched an eyebrow at Hermione and she nodded her consent.

"Thanks for the dance, Granger," he said as he walked over to Neville.

Smith assumed Blaise's place and held out his arms. Hermione stepped into them and placed her hands lightly over his own.

"You look wonderful," he said. "A fairy queen come to grace mere mortals on this night."

Hermione smiled and blushed. She looked over his costume. He had not made much effort, and she didn't begrudge him that – she was honestly shocked that McGonagall had dressed in costume. Smith was dressed in black leggings and a long, black shirt. Over this he wore a white tunic, emblazoned with a red cross and belted at the waist.

"A Crusader?"

He shrugged.

"I happened to be reading about the Templar Knights recently… it was very easy to transfigure."

"I'm surprised you didn't try something more challenging, then."

He smirked.

"Had I realized that the Headmistress would put such effort into her costume, I might have."

She smiled and enjoyed the easy way he held her as they danced.

"You truly outshine everyone else here," he said to her after twirling her and bringing her back into the circle of his arms.

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I – thank you, sir."

"I should return you to Mr. Krum," Smith said as the song ended. Hermione nodded dully and allowed her professor to lead her back to her date.

"Have a wonderful evening, Miss Granger. Thank you for the dance." He released her and left.

"Who vas that?" Viktor asked as he handed her a glass of punch.

Hermione took a sip, grateful for the cool beverage.

"The new Transfiguration professor."

"He is very young," Krum said. "Much of the staff is young," he continued.

She nodded in agreement.

"I think the Headmistress hired them with an eye to the future – she wants to build a dynasty, I suppose."

"Potter seems very happy with his Luna. She is… strange, but charming."

Hermione smiled.

"Yes, I agree."

"Vould you like to dance again?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, but then I have to go and do a round of patrols."

Krum nodded but looked unhappy. She had explained the patrol schedule to him, and he had shrugged it off as something she had to do. It was no clear that he really didn't want to let her out of his sight tonight.

They danced for two songs before Hermione felt her wand grow warm, a signal to begin her patrols.

"Vould you like me to come vith you?" Viktor asked as they walked towards the entrance to the hall.

Hermione was about to accept his offer of escort when Lavender appeared.

"Oh, Hermione, don't steal him away. I'd love the chance to dance with Viktor," she said and batted her eyelashes at Viktor.

He looked at Hermione. It was clear he would rather go with her, but he was too well mannered to turn down Lavender.

"Stay. Have fun. I'll be back in no time," she assured him.

He nodded and reluctantly led Lavender to the dance floor.

Hermione watched, amused, as Lavender closed the distance between them and danced in a most provocative manner. She rolled her eyes.

With a shrug she turned away and headed for the gardens. She had organized the patrols so that the eight prefects and she and Blaise each had twenty-minute patrols in pairs: one person would tour the gardens while the other would look through the ground level parts of the castle near the Great Hall. The Professors were also patrolling, she knew, one at a time, overseeing the entire castle.

Not surprisingly Hermione discovered three couples in less than ten minutes and even found one couple who seemed to be in the midst of a break-up. She sent them all back inside with minimal point deductions – it _was_ a bit of a holiday, after all.

She was making her final loop of the gardens when she caught sight of someone else hiding among the unkempt rosebushes along the perimeter. Hermione sighed and cast lumos to light her way to the dark area.

"Alright, whoever's in there, time to go back inside."

There was movement in the bushes, but no one stepped forward.

"Look, I'd really rather not come after you – but I will. And I'm just going to get angry and take off more points if I get scratched."

There was a dark chuckle.

"A scratch? That's the least of your worries, Miss Granger."

A dark shape darted in front of her and Hermione cast stupefy before her brain even registered her wand moving.

Another laugh, as the shape had apparently dodged her curse.

"So pitiful. I'm afraid you'll have to resort to something much darker if you intend to catch me. Something like – Crucio!"

She felt the brunt of the spell hit her instantly. It was much more powerful than last time, when she and Draco had shared the curse. Now it was just liquid fire, searing her veins and exploding into her brain like a supernova. Lights flashed before her eyes and she felt her entire body convulse. This had to be worse than when Bellatrix cursed her…. Hermione latched on to the comparison, challenging herself to retain conscious thought as she struggled against the pain. It was very difficult. She felt tears leak out of her eyes.

Finally the spell was released.

"You are a sight to behold, Mudblood. Truly amazing."

She tried to focus on the sound of the voice, but just as she turned her head she felt a heavy blow to her temple. Everything went black.

* * *

Blaise danced with Neville.

Nearly the entire school was in the Great Hall, including his many distant cousins and family acquaintances. And he danced with Neville.

The Gryffindor seemed nearly as terrified as Blaise felt – at least the school _knew_ that Blaise preferred boys. Even Neville's own house had no idea – Blaise imagined that word would reach his grandmother, and quick.

More than a few people didn't bother to hide their shock or their thoughts about the couple, and Blaise had to wonder if he was suffering from some unknown head injury as he held the Gryffindor in his arms and _smiled_ at him. In front of everyone.

Neville smiled back, his face pale and his eyes shifty as he tried to see just how many people were taking note of this, but even so… the Gryffindor was happy. And Blaise was happy, by some strange twist of fate and despite everything he had ever been taught.

His conversation with Granger Thursday night had given Blaise pause. As he explained the rules to her – the traditions that he and Draco, and most of their peers, lived by, he realized just how much he felt strangled by them. He realized that he was completely sick of having to act according to a set of conventions that he didn't even believe in.

After all, hadn't there _just_ been a war fought to destroy these principles and prejudices that crippled wizarding society? Hadn't nearly every pureblood family seen a member killed or thrown in jail for their participation? So what exactly was the point of holding on to it?

Blaise was honest enough with himself to admit that he wasn't about to go and find himself a Muggle boy to shag – he was too well brought up, and too much of a snob, to be that radical. But if he wanted a relationship with someone – a Gryffindor even – because he actually enjoyed spending time with him, and not because of the advantages he gained… then he was bloody well going to do it.

That's what he told himself, anyway. And now he was dancing with Neville in front of everyone – Viridian included – and they could all go hang themselves. Or, though this was a faint possibility, some of his peers might be encouraged and actually decide to make a life for themselves as well.

Draco, of course, was looking vastly amused as he danced with the Weasley girl. Even Blaise had to admit she cleaned up decently well, but it didn't make up for the fact that she really was an intolerable creature.

"So… we're dancing. In front of everyone." Neville seemed to have marginally relaxed.

"So it would seem," Blaise agreed and looked into his eyes.

Neville smirked back.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away, Zabini."

Blaise found himself chuckling.

"Just don't tell anyone. If it gets out… it will be the end of my reputation."

Neville shook his head.

"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. No sign of anything suspicious."

Blaise nodded in agreement.

"Granger didn't see anything either. I wonder if… I don't want to get my hopes up, but I almost wonder if maybe this isn't a bluff."

"Or he could be waiting until later, when Malfoy's guard is done."

Blaise snorted.

"His guard won't be down until he's up in my common room and there's a blockade in front of Granger's door. He's being such an idiot. Those two are…they deserve each other. They are simply _that_ infuriating."

Neville smirked.

"She and Krum seem to be having a good time."

Blaise looked over at Granger, relaxed and smiling in Krum's arms.

"She could do worse than him," Blaise admitted. It was obvious that the Quidditch star was in love, and, with the way Granger looked tonight, they actually seemed to belong together. Draco did not look happy at just how comfortable they appeared together, and he wondered if his friend would actually become motivated enough to do something about it.

Blaise watched as Granger and Krum left the dance floor and headed for the doors at the entrance to the Great Hall so that Granger could patrol.

"Well, I've got chaperone duty," Blaise said and led Neville off of the dance floor.

"I'll keep an eye on Malfoy – make sure he doesn't kill Ginny, or isn't kidnapped in plain sight."

"Thanks. Be back in a bit."

Blaise left to follow Granger and Krum, but was stopped after only a few feet by Viridian.

"Mr. Zabini, I'd like to have a word." Viridian's eyes were narrow and he looked angry.

Blaise looked over his shoulder… and figured that Granger and Krum would be okay together.

"Of course, sir."

Viridian spun on his heel and led Blaise to one of the side entrances to the hall, usually only accessed by the staff, but always a popular hiding place for snogging couples.

Once they were out of the din of the Great Hall Viridian turned and regarded Blaise steadily.

"Like the costume, sir," Blaise said and smirked as he took in the solid black garb of his professor, the only relief a stark band of white at his neck. "You know I grew up in Rome. I've always had a fantasy about getting defiled in a church."

Viridian's eyes warmed considerably at the suggestion.

"Zabini, you really are depraved."

"Unabashedly, sir." Blaise leaned back on the stone wall of the corridor. "You said you wanted to talk?"

"I wanted to get you away from Longbottom," Viridian confessed. "I am not… terribly generous when it comes to watching you dance with another man."

"_You_ could have asked me for a dance," Blaise joked. They both knew that wasn't possible.

"And have McGonagall sack me overnight?" Viridian closed the space between them and ran his thumb over Blaise's mouth. "While I have no doubt it would be worth it, I do rather value my job here."

"Shame." Blaise really didn't understand what he was doing: throwing himself at Neville in front of the school and then by turns flirting with Viridian and practically _daring_ his professor to do something.

The problem was that the moment Blaise locked eyes with Viridian he could feel the power and force of the other man's attraction to him. It was intoxicating, and Blaise couldn't deny the way he felt about him – Viridian was like a drug that seduced his senses and had him constantly craving more. Especially since it seemed that Viridian wasn't in the mood to make this into anything serious or emotional at the moment.

Viridian leaned closer and Blaise grabbed a fistful of his black shirt and jerked them together so that their lips met forcefully. The fire was still there, like the whisper of Dark magic, tempting and elusive and _good_.

"I want you. Right now." Viridian said the words against his lips, and the feel of the hot air on his mouth combined with what he was saying made Blaise momentarily forget that anything else existed.

"I've got patrols soon - I can't be missed," Blaise said after he kissed Viridian again.

Viridian pushed him back against the wall, trapping him with his larger, stronger body. His hands reached for Blaise's belt and undid the clasp with sure fingers.

"Later, then," Viridian said, but he reached for the buttons on the suede breeches Blaise wore.

"Somehow this doesn't feel like later," Blaise said and then groaned as Viridian's hand closed around his penis, already semi-erect.

"Later I'll have my turn," Viridian assured him. "For now – I want you to remember exactly what it is you want from me, Zabini."

Something in his voice forced Blaise to meet his gaze. He swallowed at the look of intensity – it was as though Viridian could see into his very soul, as if he _knew_ and he understood.

"Virdian," it came out a groan as the Professor worked his erection, using the force and pressure that bordered on painful and drove Blaise mad.

"Yes? What is it you want with me, Zabini?" He kept his pale eyes locked with Blaise's own gaze, a smirk twisting his lips.

"You mentioned something about discipline," Blaise muttered and couldn't _believe_ that Viridian was jerking him off five feet away from nearly a thousand people.

"That's because you need it." Viridian kissed him, his mouth hard and unforgiving, tongue brutal as it pushed into his mouth. "But what do you want, Blaise?"

"I want you," Blaise said simply.

"Really? Not some fumbling school boy who _smiles_ at you?" Viridian twisted his hand and the sensation made Blaise see stars.

"Yes," he said between gritted teeth, determined not to cry out. Viridian had _not_ put up silencing spells, and even though it was unlikely he would be heard over the music, he wasn't willing to risk it.

"Then show me. Come for me Blaise."

He did and he gasped at the sense of relief that accompanied it. Blaise wasn't quite sure how Viridian managed to command his orgasm, but it was impossible for Blaise to even think about not coming when he was told to – the words and the subtle steel in Viridian's voice drove him over the edge just as surely as the pressure on his erection.

Viridian murmured a cleansing spell and straightened Blaise's clothes, his eyes locked on the younger man's and his gaze fierce.

"I thought as much," he said when he completed the task. "Do you have patrols after the Ball?"

Blaise shook his head.

"Come to my office, at midnight."

He swallowed hard but found himself nodding.

"Enjoy the rest of the ball, Blaise." Viridian disappeared with a swish of his robes, and Blaise was reminded momentarily of Snape.

He leaned against the cold stones at his back and forced his breathing and his heart rate to return to normal. And he thought of Neville.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

There was no doubt that Viridian was jealous – and Blaise knew that the older man had every reason to be. He had just danced with the _fumbling school boy_ in front of the entire school, and if that wasn't an attack on the establishment then he didn't know what was.

While his and Viridian's relationship was…unusual, they still followed the rules, the protocol of their house and their traditions. What Blaise was doing with Neville went in the face of all of that. As much as Viridian seemed to genuinely care about his students, it was also obvious that he valued tradition. Blaise knew that a very serious, very unpleasant talk awaited him in the near future.

Finally pulling himself together with _that_ comforting thought, he pulled his belt a notch tighter and then made his way back to the Great Hall. It was nearly eleven, and Granger and Krum should be returning from their patrol any minute now.

He scanned the Great Hall for Neville and Draco, but his gaze was arrested by the sight of Viktor Krum dancing with Ginny Weasley. Blaise was crashing through the dancing couples before he even registered it and he was in front of them a moment later.

"Krum, where is Granger?"

The Bulgarian didn't seem to hear him. Weasley was pressed against him and Krum didn't seem to mind the position at all. His arms were gripping her back tightly.

"Krum!"

He finally looked up and caught sight of Blaise. He frowned.

"Vhat?"

"Where is Granger?"

"She vent to do patrols."

"Alone?!"

"She told me to stay."

Blaise didn't bother to hide his anger.

"You complete idiot! Do you have any idea what could happen to her?"

"She'll be fine," Weasley said with a scowl. She attempted to tug Viktor back into her embrace. "Hermione's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

"Her life is in danger," Blaise hissed and Krum stepped away from Weasley instantly.

"Vhat? How? Tell me." The Bulgarian had gone from irritated to angry instantly, and Blaise appreciated the change. He dragged him away from Weasley and through the dancers to the edge of the hall.

"Draco Malfoy – blonde bloke that was trying to piss you off last weekend?" Krum nodded with a scowl. "His father was murdered, and the murderer is out to get him – and Granger, too. He threatened to be here, tonight, and attack them. You were supposed to provide an extra element of protection for Granger."

Krum paled.

"I vas distracted…" He clenched his fists. "Ve must find her before something happens."

"That's the plan, yeah." Blaise scanned the hall for Draco, and saw him standing off to the side, near the band, scowling at the rest of the room. "I've got to get Draco. Start checking the corridors – I can't remember if she was patrolling inside or outside. Draco and I will head for the grounds. If you see anyone – stun first and ask questions later."

Krum nodded and swept off and Blaise immediately made his way towards Draco.

"Granger's missing," he said as he reached him.

Draco's face changed instantly. The scowl vanished to be replaced by a look of complete terror.

"Where the fuck is Krum?"

"He's checking the corridors – she went and patrolled on her own."

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her," Draco growled, pushing away from the wall and stalking towards the entrance purposefully.

"I _tried_." Blaise knew that if something had happened to Granger… well, he didn't know. She had better be alright.

"The gardens," Draco said, "she's patrolling the bloody gardens. Anyone could be hiding out there. Start with the Statuary. We'll meet up by the fountain. If you find h – anyone, send up a signal."

Blaise nodded and the two parted.

"Granger, I swear to Merlin you had better be breaking up couples or I am never going to forgive you," Blaise muttered and pulled out his wand as he charged towards the statuary.

_Or myself_.

* * *

Draco forced himself to remain calm.

Granger was missing – that meant nothing. She had only started patrolling… twenty-five minutes ago. She was five minutes late getting back – that could be explained by any number of things. Hell, she might be out in the gardens snogging Ron Weasley because even that prat would have to acknowledge that Granger was the most gorgeous creature to set foot in Great Hall in a long time – anything was possible.

The chances that she was being tortured out of her mind by Lucius's murderer were… slim.

"Yeah right," he muttered to himself and charged through the rose bushes, not caring that he was being far from sneaky. He cast a sensory charm, trying to detect any movement or sound in his area.

The charm revealed three sets of snogging couples that Draco barely bothered with.

"Get back inside," he sneered at the last one, his patience and his composure thin.

"Granger, where the _fuck_ are you?"

The charm revealed another couple, buried deeper in unkempt rose bushes by the edge of the grounds.

Draco approached, wand at the ready, and dove through the bushes.

Lavender Brown shrieked and pulled away from Ron Weasley, clutching the top of her dress even as the boy was reaching for the fly of his pants.

Draco winced and looked away. That was more of either of them than he had ever wanted to see.

"Brown – you're a Prefect! Show some respect for your station! Fifteen points from each of you and get back inside where you belong."

Weasley sneered.

"Obviously Hermione's still a frigid bitch," he muttered and grabbed Lavender's arm. "Take my advice, Malfoy, dump her and find a girl who puts out – she's not worth it."

Draco fought the urge to punch the other man, but it won out too easily. He grabbed his arm and spun him around, delivering a swift, crushing blow to his nose.

"Don't _ever_ talk about her like that again. Weasley, you're a worthless piece of shit and you have no idea what you're missing out on. Now get the fuck out of my sight before I report you to McGonagall for abandoning your duties." This last he directed at Brown. She pulled Weasley away from Draco and literally dragged him back inside.

Draco spun on his heel and charged off in the opposite direction.

He had only gone a few yards when he saw a glimpse of white.

This was the least visited part of the gardens, long overgrown and avoided by even the most ardent of couples. Draco drew his wand again and cautiously approached.

He pushed his way through the brambles with such force that the sleeves of his tunic ripped.

He found himself casting even before he stepped into the clearing.

"Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Draco felt his wand jerk away and he took in the situation before him, dread settling into the pit of his stomach.

Granger was on a stone bench, her arms bound over her head and her eyes wide with fear as she looked at him.

And before Draco stood a tall man, dressed as a Death Eater, directing his wand at Draco.

"It's about time the hero came to rescue his damsel. I must say, I'm shocked at how careless you are with her. Still, you've joined us now…" The Death Eater walked back towards Granger and stood over her.

"I must say, for a Mudblood she's surprisingly attractive. I can almost understand why you're throwing yourself at her. Still, for a Malfoy, you've sunk surprisingly low."

Draco stepped forward, but the Death Eater raised his wand without even looking away from Granger.

"I know you've experienced the Cruciatius _with_ her, but have you witnessed her in the thrall of its power yet? The way her spine arches – how helpless she is to hold back her tears? Even her screams… it's truly amazing how well she experiences pain. Care to see?"

"No," Draco said with more force than he intended.

"Oh, I think you do. But don't worry – you're next. She won't get all of the fun."

"Crucio!"

"No!" Draco threw himself forward and knocked the Death Eater to the ground, too late the stop the curse.

"Undo Incendia!"

Draco felt a wave of heat and threw himself to the side to avoid the rush of fire that sped towards him. The Death Eater stood and kicked Draco, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"You aren't paying attention, Malfoy, and it's going to waste. Look at _her_!"

Draco did, and his eyes locked with Granger's. She appeared to be screaming, but he could hear nothing and realized that the Death Eater had Silenced her. She was pale, shaking uncontrollably and arching off the bench as the curse flowed through her. He felt sick. Painfully reminded of her torture in his home less than a year ago, and her more recent experience with the curse. He pulled himself to his feet and lunged for the Death Eater again.

"Impedimenta!"

Draco was thrown back as he hit the invisible wall.

"So determined. And yet such a failure. Finite Incantatem!" The last was delivered with a casual wave and Granger slumped onto the bench, clearly exhausted.

"You want me," Draco pointed out. "So come on. Attack me. You've got me without my wand. Just like my father – I can't defend myself. Go ahead and finish this. You're clearly too much of a coward to face me as an equal. So finish it!"

"You don't understand, Malfoy. This is just the beginning. Your father ruined my life. Your _mother_ saw to it that I had no chance for the future. And you… you continue to live off the fruits of their labor, ignorant and arrogant. You have no idea the pain I have suffered – not yet. You think watching your Mudblood under the cruciatius is bad? Just wait for what comes next. I'm going to destroy your life, Malfoy, one piece at a time. As soon as I'm done with this trash – I'll start with your mother. That bitch deserves rather _special_ treatment, I think. How is Narcissa enjoying Paris? "

"Stay away from my mother," Draco commanded.

The Death Eater laughed.

"You have no power here, Malfoy. Your arrogance knows no bounds – but surely you were taught manners. I know you were taught to _bow_ before your betters. Oh, how that must have hurt. To scrape the floor before that Half-Blood. While you, the Pure and Righteous Malfoy… a mere slave to a madman's whims. Pathetic."

"Now…I've had fun with the Cruciatius… but even your whore has her limits, I'm afraid, and I want her conscious for this next part. Malfoy, can you imagine what it feels like to watch someone else fuck your lover?"

Draco felt all of the blood drain from his face.

"To watch her writhe under another man's touch? To hear her cry out for him. Well, can't have her crying out, I'm afraid. She's quite _loud_ I've learned. Still, I think you'll get the idea."

"Stay away from her."

"Manners, Malfoy. You don't tell me what to do. But…beg me to spare her. Crawl on your knees and kiss my feet. Go on. _DO IT_!"

Draco dropped to his knees instantly.

"Leave her alone."

"Not good enough. And where's the crawling?"

He placed his hands on the wet earth, feeling the mud and grass between his fingers. He forced himself forward until he knelt before the Death Eater.

"Leave her alone. _Please_."

"Now kiss my feet."

Draco bent his head, feeling his every instinct scream in protest. He was Draco Malfoy – patriarch of one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Wizarding Europe – and he was begging on the ground. For Granger. It was a good thing his father was dead, or this would have done him in for sure.

He pressed his lips to the leather boots before him.

"What a wonderful memory for my pensieve," the Death Eater murmured. And then he kicked Draco's jaw, sending him onto his back and even before he felt his head snap back the blonde could taste blood in his mouth.

"Well, now that we've got that out of your system, time for the Mudblood to receive some more attention." The Death Eater whipped his robes off and strode towards the bench purposefully. "I must say, she cleans up well. At least she realizes that's all she's good for."

Granger was starting to panic. The Death Eater reached her and delivered a vicious backhand to her face, snapping her head back against the bench with a crack.

"Of course, she doesn't show the proper respect." He reached out and grabbed a handful of the white fabric of her dress and ripped it away, revealing Granger's naked torso. "But I suppose we can overlook that, eh Malfoy?" The Death Eater knelt between her legs and reached forward. As he did so, Granger swung her bound hands up and brought them down on the back of his neck, pitching him to the ground.

Draco forced a laugh.

"Careful. That one's feisty. I'm surprised you didn't even bother with a binding charm. She seems _awfully_ intimidated by you. Somehow, I doubt that your whore fought off my father quite as well. Tell me – did she leave you for him? You pathetic sod, she did."

"Shut up Malfoy!" The Death Eater was back on his feet and his wand was directed at Draco again.

"What? Even the Mudblood won't show you respect… "

"Sectumsempra!"

Draco felt a flash of pain and the skin across his chest felt like it was being peeled open. The searing agony was familiar, but that didn't help him fight it off. He could feel the warm spill of his own blood and didn't need to look down to know that his tunic was already turning red.

"That works well enough on you. I wonder how the Mudblood responds?"

"No!" The word ended in a scream of agony as the Dark curse burrowed deeper into his body.

"Oh yes. Sec –"

"Expelliarmus!"

The Death Eater's wand flew to the ground and Draco turned, falling onto his side as he did.

Daphne Greengrass was charging forward, a sneer on her face and her wand steady.

"How cute. Another cunt to join the fight. Crucio!" He was using Draco's wand now, but the magic clearly didn't work with his own. Daphne was able to dodge the curse.

"Stupefy!"

"Confundo!" The two spells met and dissipated.

"Incendio!"

Daphne's costume was suddenly on fire and the girl struggled to put out the flames.

"I'm afraid our evening has to be cut short, Malfoy. But never fear, I will see you again. And I'm not quite finished with your Mudblood yet either. She clearly needs to be taught the proper way of things. Crucio!"

This last was directed at Granger, and then the Death Eater plowed threw the rose bushes behind him.

Draco felt his vision fading, felt his heart slow and his body grow heavy.

Daphne finally managed to control the fire and turned to him.

"Granger," he managed to say just before he passed out.


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks to all the reviews! I'm so happy so many people have decided to add this to their favorites/alert lists!

Another Chance

Chapter Sixteen

Draco woke to the sound of raised voices.

It was early morning, judging by the pale light washing across the infirmary beds around him, and he was once again in a bed, alone and isolated from the rest of the room.

He felt a dull ache in his chest and touched the bandages wrapped around the wound. Much like the last time he had been hit with the curse, he supposed he would be taking a potion for at least a week, to counter the effects of the Dark magic and the severe blood loss.

The voices were angrier, and suddenly closer.

Draco propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the pain the movement caused, and craned his neck to see around the partition on the right side of his bed.

McGonagall, Bill Weasley, Viridian, and a witch Draco did not recognize were gathered together in the center of the room. McGonagall looked more sour than usual and she was facing down Weasley and the other witch.

"…supervision. You may question them once they have awakened and not a moment sooner. These children have suffered from very strong, very dark magic. My mediwitch assures me that they will wake sometime before the afternoon, but they need _quiet_ and peace so that they may recover."

"If, as you claim, a Death Eater is on the loose then he may attack again at any moment. It is in your best interests, and the Ministry's, to begin interrogating these individuals immediately to determine the veracity of this accusation." The other witch said this with a touch of asperity.

"You doubt the word of Miss Greengrass? She is a Prefect and a student in excellent standing. Why on earth would she lie about seeing a Death Eater attack Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger. Not to mention the fact that one of my staff members found Mr. Krum and Mr. Nott. Unless you are suggesting that Professor Viridian Imperiused Mr. Nott and forced him to cast the Cruciatius?"

"Headmistress, I think Auror Proudfoot is simply trying to move as quickly as possible to secure the safety of the students," Weasley cut in.

McGonagall turned on him.

"As am I. However, I am not willing to risk the health of my students further. Perhaps the Ministry should simply see to committing the appropriate resources to hunting down the Death Eaters who avoided capture, and then we could all be assured of our safety."

Proudfoot made a _hmph_ of disdain and crossed her arms.

"The Ministry, as you know, is strained enough as it is. We have made every effort to acquire the most dangerous of Voldemort's followers."

"Clearly you have missed one."

Draco snorted at that.

Viridian looked up and caught his eye.

"If your questions are of such grave importance, Auror Proudfoot, then perhaps you would care to direct them to Mr. Malfoy…" he gestured towards Draco.

The others turned and took in his alert status and immediately crossed the room, descending upon him as though he were carrion.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am Auror Proudfoot and –"

"Let the boy _breathe_," McGonagall muttered and glared at the witch until she backed away from the edge of Draco's bed. McGonagall then turned a stern glance upon the Slytherin. "Mr. Malfoy, can you tell us what exactly occurred last night?"

"Granger – is she –"

Draco wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but he swore that McGonagall's face softened.

"Miss Granger is recovering. It seems there are no lasting effects from her bout with the Cruciatius curse. Again. It is extremely fortunate that Miss Greengrass came across you two."

Draco nodded and sank back onto the pillows at his back. Granger was alive. The relief he felt at that knowledge was immense and left him numb to all other thought and emotion. Granger was alive.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

He jerked his gaze to meet McGonagall's and realized the witch must have been speaking to him for some time. He scowled.

"Would you please tell us what happened last night."

"Granger was late coming back from her patrols. Blaise and I decided to look for her. I found her first. There was a Death Eater torturing her. I tried to stop him and he cursed me. He was…about to return his attentions to Granger when Daphne showed up and managed to force him away. I think he realized that there were more people around and decided to flee."

McGonagall and Viridian looked as though they knew he was leaving out significant details.

"So you believe that this Death Eater was specifically targeting Miss Granger? And both you and Granger were attacked by a Death Eater in Hogsmeade several weeks ago." Proudfoot looked skeptical.

Draco arched an eyebrow.

"Surely you aren't suggesting it was the same Death Eater? Can't the Ministry manage to retain _any_ criminals?" He snarled.

Proudfoot's face flushed.

"Of course Mr. Rowle is still in Azkaban. I think that it is highly unlikely that Miss Granger be attacked by Death Eaters twice."

"Unless they're targeting her…" Draco pointed out. "She is the Muggleborn witch that helped defeat Voldemort. I can't be certain, but I don't think they're exactly throwing parties in her honor these days."

"You would be in the unique position to know, Mr. Malfoy," Proudfoot pointed out.

"Are you suggesting that I am responsible for attacking Granger? And just felt the need to risk my sanity and my life in the process?"

"Mr. Malfoy, are you certain those are all of the pertinent details?" McGonagall was looking at him searchingly.

He nodded.

"Very well. Auror Proudfoot, I believe you have acquired all of the information there is available at this point. Perhaps you should return to the Ministry with this information. Once Miss Granger awakes I will send word and you may return and question her."

Proudfoot looked ready to argue, but Weasley put a hand on her shoulder. The witch allowed Weasley to lead her away, murmuring to the other man as they walked.

McGonagall waited for the reverberating slam of the infirmary doors before she turned back to Draco.

"The war forced all of us to make sacrifices, to grow too quickly, and to change the very nature of our hearts." She sent him a piercing look and Draco could swear she was using Occulumency. "Some, more than others. Your nature has always been one of solitude and distrust. But I ask you now, Mr. Malfoy, if there is anything you wish to say, to add to your account of last night?"

Viridian was looking at him just as intently, and their combined gaze felt likely to burn through him.

"No," he said at last. "Nothing, aside from the fact that I'd look to the wards. Dark magic was cast on Granger long before I arrived – and yet no one detected it."

McGonagall and Viridian exchanged glances.

"The attack on Miss Granger and yourself was not the only one last night."

Draco waited for McGonagall to continue, but it was Viridian who spoke next.

"I found Krum in the main corridor, suffering from the Cruciatius curse. Nott was beside him, standing and staring ahead blankly. He had been Imperiused and attacked Krum."

"How long was Krum under the curse?"

"He is currently in St. Mungo's, being treated for nerve damage. His prognosis looks…hopeful."

Not terribly optimistic, Draco interpreted. He swallowed hard and felt what felt suspiciously like guilt. Could Krum's torture have been prevented – or Granger's? Would telling the Ministry or McGonagall actually help to expose his father's murderer? Draco sincerely doubted it. The Ministry showed precious little care to murdered criminals, and Draco was one step above a convicted Death Eater in their minds. He wasn't about to subject himself to their brand of protection – removal from school, likely forced to reside in a safe house until the murderer was captured – or, more likely, tracked down Draco and killed him. If he could access Azkaban it was entirely likely that he had the availability to infiltrate the Ministry to some extent.

"Granger was cursed long before Krum went looking for her," Draco pointed out.

"The wards gave no indication of Dark magic until Krum was cursed," McGonagall said, her voice hoarse.

That was comforting. Whoever had done this powerful – or at least knowledgeable about the school wards. It was not information one could readily come across.

"How…inspiring," he muttered.

McGonagall stood to her full height.

"Mr. Malfoy, this school has always sought to protect its students, and it will continue to do so. Despite your reservations. Now, Professor Viridian, I believe we have a staff meeting to attend."

Viridian considered Draco for a moment longer, and then followed the Headmistress from the room. Draco listened for the slam of the infirmary doors again before he rose from the bed.

He took a moment to steady himself as he felt blood rush through his limbs, the pain in his chest a lingering burn. Cautiously he stepped around his partition and saw Granger, pale and asleep, curled on her side and her brows furrowed.

She looked very young and very fragile.

Draco leaned against the partition and watched her steady, shallow breathing for several moments before he finally took a seat in the chair by her bedside.

He reached out and grasped one of her hands in his own. Her skin was smooth and cool to the touch. Draco threaded their fingers together and leaned back in his chair, resting their joined hands on the edge of her bed.

It wasn't long before he felt himself drifting back to sleep.

When he woke again the light had shifted, and he was no longer alone at Granger's bedside.

Potter had taken up residence in a chair opposite Draco, and the Boy Who Lived was regarding Draco with narrowed eyes. When he noticed that Draco was looking back at him, he straightened in his chair.

"She could have died," he hissed.

"I realize that, Potter."

"And you really think she was going to be safer with _Krum_, when you could have looking out for her all along?"

Draco had not expected this argument from Potter.

"Brilliant plan, by the way." Potter looked fierce, and Draco wished he had his wand. That thought made him wince. The Death Eater had taken it – and once again, Draco Malfoy was without a wand.

"I get that you Purebloods have a lot of crap traditions but if you really think alienating Hermione is better than being by her side then you're even worse off than _I_ thought."

"He wanted us together," Draco finally snarled. "He wanted to torture the both of us."

"And you really think that you and Hermione couldn't have taken him on – together? With your wands? I know how she fights – and you can't be that much of a hindrance. You could have taken him! Krum would be still alright, she wouldn't be here in a near coma – and this whole thing would be past you!"

"It isn't just this murderer, Potter. My entire house would turn on her."

"Because they've always been _so_ chummy with her before."

"You don't understand –"

"No, you don't understand. Blaise Zabini is the Head Boy and you're Lord bloody Malfoy. I might not get all of the nuances, but the two of you are pretty damn powerful with that lot. Used to be, you said jump, and all of them asked how high."

"Then I became a failure, Potter. They leave me on my own because of my title. Their respect for me is gone. I can't protect her from them."

"I think she can handle a few Slytherins, Malfoy. I don't think she can handle another round with a Death Eater on her own."

Draco thought back to his first night at school and the welcome his house had prepared for him.

"Nott was Imperioused?" He asked.

Potter scowled at the sudden change of subject.

"Yeah, and Obliviated. He's at St. Mungo's for the next few days, the Healers are trying to see if they can't revive his memories."

Draco frowned and considered that. Nott had been Imperioused… the Slytherin was as cautious and paranoid as any of the other seventh years. For him to have been hit with that curse, and for it to have been sustained he would had to been taken completely off-guard – or known the person who was casting and had reason to trust them.

"Malfoy are you even listening to me?"

"No," he replied honestly.

Potter looked ready to come across the bed and throttle him.

"Do you really intend to keep ignoring her? To keep putting her in danger?"

"You aren't listening, Potter. If I let on how much she means she will be in greater danger."

"Bullshit." Potter's green gaze was sharp. "You aren't worried about her. You're worried about you. You don't want to make a stand against them, do you? You'd rather just let them run your life with their idiotic traditions than actually dare to do something about it. You don't think she's worth it, do you? You still think she's nothing but a Mud –"

"Don't say it Potter! Of course she's worth it. She's worth more than I can ever give her. She is so…Granger is…" Draco could not put his thoughts into words. He couldn't explain to Potter that she was the only reason he had even survived his first week of school, the reason he regained his equilibrium, the driving force behind everything decent he found himself doing. Granger defined his life: from her presence at meals and classes to her laugh, her lips, her wild hair that refused to be tamed. She was Granger. She was…

Potter was looking smug and Draco realized he had just been manipulated.

"It isn't simple Potter. It isn't easy for me to go against thousands of years of protocol."

"Oh, well, if it isn't easy – I completely understand. Forgive me for suggesting you actually put effort into something. If all you want is to settle for your father's life – his friends, his traditions, his money…"

"Stop arguing."

Both focused their attention on the girl between them. Her eyes were still closed, but her frown was now more pronounced. She rolled over onto her back, her hand still clasped in Draco's.

"Do you ever stop bossy people around?" Draco muttered.

Her eyes opened and focused on him.

"You're alive."

"It would appear so."

"Draco –don't you _ever_ let a Death Eater curse you again. I thought you were going to die."

"Like you're one to talk. You had to go and get Crucio'd _again_. Honestly, if this is your attempt to make your last year at school more challenging just by killing off half your brain so you actually have to learn something new – it's an idiotic plan and I won't allow it."

She smiled slightly, the corners of her lips tipping up.

Potter cleared his throat loudly.

Draco glared at him.

"Krum's in St. Mungo's. He was attacked as well."

Granger went tense.

"What –"

Potter explained the events that she had missed out on, and Draco found himself wondering where Blaise was.

"What did McGonagall tell everyone?" Granger asked.

Potter scowled.

"That you and Malfoy, and Krum, were attacked. That it seemed as though you were the target – and that all precautions were being taken to secure the school, and the safety of the students. The Professors are going to rotate out patrols nightly, not just after curfew, but after classes end for the day. Quidditch practices will be supervised."

"But _I_ don't play Quidditch," Granger pointed out.

"No, but since the Snitch was cursed at our last game, McGonagall thinks that it's not just a scheme to attack you. She thinks it's aimed at Malfoy too. Which it is."

Potter's glance was pointed and Draco refused to look away or acknowledge the implied reprimand.

"I want to get out of here," Granger mumbled.

"I'll get Pomfrey, see if you can be released." Potter stood and walked away.

Granger turned back to Draco.

"We need to talk," she said.

He found himself nodding in agreement.

"I think… I have an idea of how to narrow down the possibilities for the identity of this murderer."

_Oh_. Not the talk he had been thinking of, then.

"Granger –"

"Please, just, don't go and make things difficult again just yet," her eyes were pleading and he found himself sighing in resignation. She squeezed his hand.

Pomfrey bustled over, casting Draco a glare as she arrived.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you somehow physically incapable of remaining in your _own_ bed?"

"I'm in a chair this time, aren't I?"

She sniffed and pushed her way between him and Granger, forcing their hands apart.

"Now, Mr. Potter tells me that you wish to leave."

"Yes, please," Granger sat up, wincing only slightly as she did.

"You will see me the instant you feel pain – or memory loss – or if you experience any seizures?"

"Yes, I promise." Granger was half exasperated.

"Very well." Pomfrey turned to leave.

"What about me?" Draco asked.

"As much I as I loathe to part ways, you too, may go. You remember the potion regimen – see me after dinner and before breakfast every day for the rest of this week."

"Yes," Draco said.

"And, Mr. Malfoy, I would appreciate it ever so much if you stopped showing up in my infirmary."

"I will try my best," he assured her as she walked away.

Potter was smirking and Draco glared at him.

"You've just missed lunch," Potter said and sat down on the end of Granger's bed as she stood. "I can always nip down to the kitchens for something, though."

Granger shook her head.

"No, no I'll be okay."

"Are you sure? I –"

"Really, I don't want anything. I doubt I could keep it down."

Granger looked around for her wand.

"Damn it. He took my wand!"

"Join the club," Draco groused.

"Er… anything I can do for you?" Potter pulled out his own wand.

Granger arched an eyebrow, but then shrugged.

"Transfigure these into decent clothes, please."

Potter looked slightly uncertain.

"Like what?"

"I don't care – anything that I can walk around the castle in."

Potter frowned in concentration, but eventually flicked his wand in her direction. Granger's pajamas transformed into a pair of jeans that seemed too large and a shirt that was much too tight.

"At least I'm not naked," she muttered after tugging on the shirt, trying unsuccessfully to stretch it.

"Draco."

He jerked his eyes up to meet hers, amused to see her blushing.

"Just looking," he said.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Want me to…?" Potter gestured towards him vaguely.

Draco looked back at Granger and considered Potter's first, rather abysmal attempt. Still… it was likely Potter had never transfigured clothes for a female before. Perhaps he would be able to get it better on another male?

"Go ahead. It can't be as painful as what I've already lived through."

Even so, Draco closed his eyes as Potter cast the spell.

Opening them a moment later he regarded the other boy's handiwork.

"Jeans?! I can't be seen in Muggle clothes! And what is this… shirt?"

Draco pulled at the long sleeved shirt. Horizontal stripes of gold and black ran across it, broken by a solid white collar.

"Rugby shirt," Potter explained. Granger looked amused. "And I've never transfigured anything but jeans. I doubt you want me to risk an experiment."

"No," Draco quickly agreed. "I'll survive."

"I need to find McGonagall," Granger said abruptly.

"You can't tell her –"

She turned on him and her amusement had vanished.

"I need a wand, Draco. And what I can and can't tell McGonagall is entirely at my own discretion. My life is my own, and no concern of yours. Remember?"

She stormed away, leaving Draco and Potter to stare after her.

"Wow. You're going to need to beg," Potter remarked.

Draco sneered at him and then took off after Granger.

She wasn't the only one in need of a new wand, after all.

They tracked McGonagall down in the library, of all places, and Draco was amused and a bit anxious to see that she was reading up on the history of protective wards used on Magical structures.

"Headmistress."

"Ah, Miss Granger! I trust Madame Pomfrey released you."

Granger nodded impatiently.

"Yes, but – Draco and I need new wands. The Death Eater took ours."

McGonagall looked between them with a scowl.

"I see."

"Is there any way we can go to Diagon Alley this afternoon – now, perhaps?"

McGonagall shook her head.

"I'm afraid that is out of the question. The staff is concentrating on securing the castle, and there is no one to spare to escort you. You are both required to attend a Ministry hearing tomorrow morning, and you may stop in Diagon Alley after to purchase new wands."

"A hearing?"

"There is an investigation into the incidents of last night, and your statement is required, Miss Granger. The Auror in charge of the investigation would also like Mr. Malfoy to clarify a few details."

Draco rolled his eyes at that. Proudfoot thought that he was lying and wanted to catch him at it.

"So…we'll miss classes tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Granger actually looked relieved, and Draco wondered if maybe that curse hadn't effected her more than they thought.

"What time will we leave?"

"Professor Weasley will escort you to the Ministry after breakfast."

"Thank you, Headmistress."

McGonagall had already turned back to her books and Granger walked away without waiting for Draco.

"Granger – wait." He reached for her arm as they left the library.

"Draco, please, I don't want to fight with you."

"What?"

She turned to him and her expression was set.

"You're going to berate me for being an idiot, and you're going to remind me that I'm a _liability_ to you and that this only further proves your point. And then you're going to say something cruel because you want me to just agree that you're right and then you'll get all righteous and go into a rant about how this is your problem anyway." She shook her head. "I don't want to do it right now. Let's just skip it, okay?"

Draco found himself speechless.

"Thank you. I'm going back to my common room now. I – I'm glad that you're okay."

And with that she turned and walked away, leaving Draco to stare after her.

* * *

"Start talking, Zabini."

It was their scheduled Sunday tea meeting, but so far, nothing was going according to tradition.

When Blaise entered Viridian had remained behind his desk, and he had waved the door closed with a slam before even looking up at Blaise.

"About what, sir?"

"Don't play the fool with me. Something is going on. Students are being cursed left and right and there are _Death Eaters_ involved. I want answers. Malfoy isn't talking, so you had damn well better."

Blaise raised his chin.

"Or what?"

"Don't play with me! Lives are at stake. Despite whatever you make think, my first priority is the safety of my students. I can't protect them if I don't know what _from_."

"It isn't my place to tell, sir."

Viridian stood, slamming his chair back as he did.

"I don't give a damn what your idiotic honor code prevents you from doing! Malfoy could have died. And Granger –"

"I know!" Blaise shouted over him. "I bloody well know! And if I hadn't already fucked everything to hell I _would_ tell you. But I owe him that much."

Viridian stared at him for a solid minute and Blaise had never felt such intense scrutiny from the man before that wasn't a prelude to sex. It was clear, however, that Viridian's anger superseded any attraction he may have felt for Blaise; at this moment the only emotion Viridian seemed to be experiencing was rage. For the second time in as many days Blaise was reminded of Snape.

"Fetch Malfoy."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Zabini. Fetch Malfoy."

Blaise swallowed and tried to think of an argument to go against the command.

"_Now_ Zabini."

He spun on his heel and exited the office.

Draco was gone from the infirmary, and Blaise made his way down to the dungeons and the Slytherin common room after Pomfrey turned him away.

When he entered the students went silent. The younger students were gathered together, while the prominent sixth and seventh years had arrayed themselves by the fire. Pansy glared at him and Blaise offered her a mocking salute.

Daphne Greengrass rose from the group and crossed over to him.

"How is Granger?" She asked.

The question surprised Blaise, but then, Daphne had been the one to find them. Maybe she felt a small investment in Granger's health?

"Released from the infirmary." It was all that Blaise knew, and Daphne nodded at the answer.

"Draco's in his room," she said. "He…stormed in here a few hours ago and had it out with Pansy. In front of everyone."

Blaise arched an eyebrow, interested.

"Told her she was wasting herself on Nott and to grow a spine. Then he turned on a few other seventh years and gave them a piece of his mind." Daphne smirked. "It was almost like old times."

"I suppose we should curse him more frequently then," Blaise mused.

Daphne rolled her eyes.

"I don't think that's what did it. He threatened to curse Vaisey and Harper if they went near Sarah Fawcett again."

"What have they been doing to Sarah Fawcett?"

Daphne sent him a patronizing look.

"You're kidding."

"They're idiots who have a lot of rage built up – they take it out where they can. Her mother was a Muggleborn."

"Why does no one tell me about these things?"

Daphne shrugged.

"Cartwright knew about it. I caught them at it once and told her to look after her house… fat lot of good it did."

Blaise scowled and then ran a hand through his hair.

"We should talk again. But I've got to get Draco."

Daphne stepped aside and Blaise made his way through the tunnel that led to the boys dormitory. Draco's room was one of the first.

He pounded on the door.

"I swear to Merlin I will hex the next person who –" Draco abruptly cut himself off as he noticed Blaise. "What do you want?"

Not that he had expected a warm greeting, after the disastrous events of last night, but Blaise was still taken about by the cold expression that overcame his friends' face.

"Professor Viridian would like to speak with you."

"What did you tell him?" Draco sneered.

"Nothing, which is why he wants to speak with you."

Draco stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him. Blaise arched an eyebrow when Draco started to walk away.

"No wards?"

"I don't have a _wand_ and won't get one until tomorrow," Draco growled.

Blaise was taken aback. Draco had just marched into the Slytherin common room and practically challenged the upper years to a duel – and he didn't even have a _wand?_

"Are you mad?" Blaise caught up with him.

"A bit, yeah," Draco agreed. He scowled at the students gathered by the fire. Blaise was amused, and impressed, to see most of them avert their gaze.

"Merlin, you're pissed," he said as he tried to keep pace with Draco's furious steps as they left the common room.

"I have every reason to be," Draco said.

"Right, but –"

"But Granger could have _died_ last night, Blaise." Draco slanted a cold look in his direction and Blaise literally felt his insides freeze. "I trusted you," he said simply.

Blaise swallowed hard and fought to keep his face impassive.

Draco was silent for the rest of the journey to Viridian's office.

"Enter," the Defense professor commanded after the Prefect's terse knock.

The two boys stepped into the room.

"Wait outside, Zabini," Viridian barely spared a glance at Blaise.

Rigidly, Blaise left the office for a second time and took up a post on the wall opposite the door.

As he waited his mind filled with self-recrimination and guilt. He knew that Draco held him at least partially responsible for Granger – he held himself responsible as well. He had failed, and it was not a welcome or familiar feeling. The guilt and shame that accompanied it were nearly crippling.

It was nearly an hour later that the door opened. Draco stormed out without a word to Blaise.

"Zabini."

Blaise put on his most indifferent face and marched into the office.

Viridian was now seated in his customary armchair. He gestured for Blaise to sit opposite him.

"You really thought that it was wise to keep that a secret?"

Blaise remained silent. He had no idea what exactly Draco had said, and he wasn't about to go and incriminate any of them further.

"Someone is trying to murder your best friend and you've just been sitting on this? All this time?"

"It's what he wanted," Blaise ground out.

Viridian shook his head.

"Idiotic school boys. You think you can handle this?"

"Who were we supposed to trust? Do you have any idea how many times this school has been infiltrated by the Dark Lord's servants? Do you know how quickly McGonagall would turn him out – just to save the rest of her students? Who were we supposed to go to?"

"Me," Viridian said simply.

Blaise sneered.

"Right. You with your lectures on virtue and your damned ideas about recovering from the war – what would you tell us to do? Brush up on our shield charms? Do the right thing? Draco has no reason to trust you or anyone else."

"You do," Viridian said.

"Me? For fuck's sake – how am I supposed to trust you? Trust anyone? I've spent the last four years watching my own back because everyone wanted me dead or imprisoned or following a madman! I've got no one but Draco – and I'll be damned if I betray his trust. You say you understand – that you know what it's like to wake up from a nightmare only to realize you can't wake up because it's your life. You tell me that I'm falling towards the Dark. I've been pushed in that direction my entire life and of course I'm slipping. But you can't sit there and tell me that I should have come to you with this. We have sex, Viridian. We have no relationship outside of a physical one. And that very thing prevents me from coming to you, from trusting you, with something like this. I told you before that my loyalty is to myself, and I meant it. Draco is the _only_ exception to that. If he finally told you – then fine. That's his right. And I'm bloody glad that he did. There are a lot of things I feel guilty about right now, but not spilling his secrets to you isn't one of them."

Blaise finally stopped, exhausted and completely spent.

"I see."

He looked up and met Viridian's gaze. The older man looked resigned and weary.

"Good," Blaise sneered. "Now, may I go? I need to see if the Head Girl is functioning."

"Of course."

Viridian remained in his seat as Blaise rose and left.

The minute he stepped into the hall again Blaise stumbled against a wall, scratching his cheek against the stone.

He felt completely empty and yet overwhelmed with thought. Blaise honestly had no idea how he had managed to force all of those words out, had no idea where to go from here. Viridian had seemed as different from his usual confident self as was possible. Blaise had been cruel, but he had also been honest.

Eventually, Blaise forced himself to put aside his doubt and self-hatred and pushed away from the wall and went in search of Granger.

He found her in their common room. She was stretched out on the couch asleep.

Blaise threw himself into the armchair across from her and looked her over.

She seemed much the same as the last time she had been cursed – pale but whole – and he was grateful that she was asleep. He had no idea what to say to Granger and he doubted he would ever find the words to express his remorse.

She slept for hours, and eventually Blaise collected his Charms essay from his room and started revising it, all the while keeping an eye on the sleeping Head Girl.

What he was watching for Blaise couldn't say, but he wanted to be available should she need anything.

"Blaise… shouldn't you be at dinner?"

Granger had finally woken.

"Do you ever cease to nag?"

"No. Surely you've learnt that by now."

He rolled his eyes and found himself unable to meet her gaze.

"Blaise, it wasn't your fault."

"The hell it wasn't. I swore to him I would protect you –"

"I'm not a child that needs my hand held as I cross the road! I fought in a war and I won! I don't need you, or him, to watch out for me!"

"Because you had the situation in hand."

"Stop it." Her voice was harsh and he finally looked up at her. "I never said I didn't need help. But I won't have you blaming yourself for my own stupidity. I was the one who went on patrol on my own. I was the one who didn't cast fast enough. Me. Not you."

She paused and drew in a deep breath, the act seeming to calm her.

"Blaise, you can't do this to yourself. You are troubled enough as it is, you can't go adding my own mistakes to yours. They're mine, and I'm not sharing." One corner of her mouth quirked upwards, but Blaise didn't return the gesture.

She sighed.

"If you don't talk to me I'm just going to be forced to cuddle with you. It works well enough on Draco – as far as I know it's the only method proven to force Slytherins to speak."

Blaise rolled his eyes and set aside his work.

"You could have died."

"Oddly, I know that. What you –and everyone else – seems to have forgotten is that I spent seven years at Harry Potter's side. I know what I'm getting into. I knew that I was a target."

Blaise clenched his fists and looked away.

"Granger –"

"This is that whole Pureblood liability crap, isn't it? I'm Draco's weakness, and as his friend you were supposed to watch out for me and even things out."

Blaise found himself nodding.

"What bollocks. Can I point out the fact that Draco was also disarmed and tortured? I'm not miserably incompetent and I swear to God if you don't stop looking like someone just ran over your kitten I'm going to scream."

"I can't just put it behind me! I failed Draco and then I went and buggered things with Viridian."

Granger arched an eyebrow.

"I thought that was the general idea behind your interactions with Viridian anyway."

Blaise shot her a scathing look.

"He'll never forgive me." He felt weak for admitting it, and even as he said the words he wished he could take them back.

"Blaise, he's crazy about you. I'm sure –"

"Not Viridian. _Draco_."

"Oh." She sighed. "Boys are so stupid sometimes. Look, I can think of the perfect way to make it up to him."

Blaise sneered.

"Offer to Avada myself at his earliest convenience?"

"Stop being so bloody dramatic." Granger sat up and suddenly looked her usual, earnest self. "I was rather hoping Draco would get over himself and be here for this conversation, but I'll have it with you. The Death Eater said some things last night that I think we can use to figure out his identity."

"Viridian forced the whole thing out of Draco this afternoon," Blaise felt compelled to tell her.

Granger arched an eyebrow.

"That's… a bit unexpected. I don't think that Viridian is one of our suspects, though, so it doesn't hurt anything."

Blaise sighed.

"You're doing it."

"Doing what?"

"The Swot-that-saved-the-world mode you go into."

Granger laughed and Blaise found himself grinning in response.

"Thanks, I think." She pushed her hair behind her ears and wandlessly summoned Blaise's spare parchment and quill.

"So, first thing: he called me a Mudblood."

"He was dressed as a Death Eater, that's hardly out of character," Blaise pointed out.

"Obviously. But then he said he could almost understand why Draco was throwing himself after me." She looked expectant.

"So…he's seen the two of you together before."

"Exactly, he hinted at having see us in Hogsmeade during the last attack – but he already said that in one of his notes as well. So I think we can assume that he was somewhere, watching the attack."

"Okay. Do you remember anyone on the streets? No, that would be stupid. So he had to be inside a building, with a window, near your location."

Granger nodded and her enthusiasm was almost contagious.

"Next Hogsmeade weekend isn't until we get back winter break," Blaise pointed out.

"But I'm not going anywhere during the break," Granger said. "I'm staying here."

"Oh, brilliant plan – go out searching for the Death Eater that wants you and Draco dead. On your own. Did we not just have a discussion about the stupidity of that?"

Granger sighed. "I won't go on my own. I'll find someone to go with me. I promise."

Blaise shook his head.

"We'll come back to that point. What else do you have?"

Granger scribbled down something on her paper before she spoke again.

"He said that Draco's father _and_ mother ruined his life. He also claimed that… well, I _think_ he said that Malfoy – Lucius – had, well, I guess he…"

"Out with it Granger."

"Lucius seduced this man's lover, I think. Or at least was intimate with her."

Blaise arched an eyebrow and wondered how that topic had possibly come up last night. And then he had a sudden chilling thought.

"What did he to do you?"

"Nothing! Nothing, Blaise. He didn't – things didn't go that far."

Blaise released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"So, it's personal, this grudge. Draco started baiting him – and he reacted pretty strongly. I'm nearly certain that this woman left the murderer for Lucius."

"Lucius was rather well known for his inability to remain faithful to Narcissa," Blaise said eventually. "I'm not sure how much this helps us."

"I know, but it's something. I was hoping – can you talk to Draco, ask him if he remembers any one with his father?"

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"That sounds like an excellent conversation to have."

"If you're too much of a coward I'll do it myself." She arched an eyebrow.

Blaise sighed.

"Fine. He's pissed enough at me already."

"Thank you. I think the first step we can take is getting a copy of the inmate list of Azkaban."

"Oh – that should be simple. Do you plan on just waltzing into the Ministry and asking for a confidential list of the Wizarding world's most dangerous convicts?"

Granger raised her chin and met his gaze.

"Of course."

* * *

Hermione dressed with care the next morning. She made sure that her school uniform and robes were immaculate – pressed, neat, and lint free. She also took the time to straighten her hair and put on a light layer of make-up. She considered all of this to be armour: Hermione knew that the Ministry investigation would be an ordeal – as with anything having to do with the Ministry was; additionally, she needed to look her best if she had any hope of talking her way into getting a copy of the inmate listing; and lastly, there was Draco to deal with.

It had taken a certain amount of soul searching, but yesterday afternoon Hermione had finally come to the conclusion that things between them were…at a standstill for the foreseeable future. Draco saw her as a liability, and after Saturday night, Hermione saw herself as one too. She had been foolish, but what's more, she had been dependent upon others. For all of her career at Hogwarts Hermione had been used to being a member of a trio – she had been on her own, abandoned by the boys when they banded together against her; but she knew herself well enough to admit that she had grown accustomed to having support. Even now, she had spent the school year in the company of Blaise and Draco – and she was tired of feeling reliant on them, on any of them.

Her parents had raised her to be strong and independent, and for the most part, she was. However, recent events had made her feel…less than she was. Hermione _was_ strong and independent, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she could do better.

Draco, and even Blaise, saw her as a liability – in fact, all of the boys in her life did. She knew that they likely always would, it was a boy thing, after all. But she also knew that since the death of her father she had been more or less drifting along, weighed down by her guilt and her inability to move forward, and she was tired of it.

Two rounds with a Death Eater was more than enough for her, for one semester, and she was determined to figure out _who_ Lucius' murderer was just and get this thing over with.

Beyond that, she was infuriated by the fact that a war had just been fought to end Pureblood prejudices – and they were still strong even in daily life at Hogwarts. Hermione could respect tradition to a certain extent – she had always been fascinated by history – but she also knew that these traditions and even this society belonged in the past. If Draco couldn't see that, she would make it so obvious that he was forced to acknowledge it.

So Hermione squared her shoulders and went down to breakfast on her own Monday morning. She sat with Luna Lovegood, since nearly half the school failed to show up for breakfast on Monday mornings, they were alone, and Hermione appreciated the chance to avoid questions, glares, and arguments.

Luna seemed to realize this. She cocked her head to one side and regarded Hermione for a moment before returning to her breakfast.

"Daddy and I are going to Nepal over break," she said with a slight smile.

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione tried to sound interested.

"Hm. We're looking for Yetis… Daddy says that he heard rumors that a local Sherpa fell in love with a Yeti and they are living in a cave… happily ever after."

Hermione blinked and willed herself NOT to think of a mental image to go along with Luna's words.

"Fascinating."

"Harry was a wonderful date on Saturday. I'm sorry things ended so badly…"

"Me too."

"The things Ginny said to him were awful."

Hermione looked up and frowned. She had assumed Luna was talking about the Death Eater's attack and the early ending to the night when the Professors forced everyone back to their common rooms.

"Oh?"

Luna nodded and she was frowning slightly.

"She's changed, since the war."

"We all have," Hermione pointed out bitterly.

"I still wake up and think I'm back there. In the dungeons, sometimes."

Hermione blinked at this revelation, but Luna wore her usual, slightly far-off look.

"Luna."

The blonde girl looked at Hermione, and her silver eyes were wider than normal.

"You were really extraordinary, last year. You, Neville, and Ginny really made a difference."

"What else could we do?" Luna blinked and her expression cleared. "Anyway, I think that Draco wants to speak with you."

Hermione turned around, and indeed the blonde Slytherin was standing behind her, arms behind his back, seeming to be waiting for her acknowledgement.

"Yes?"

"Professor Weasley is ready to go, if you are finished with breakfast."

His gaze was cool and detached and Hermione fought to keep hers the same.

"Of course. See you, Luna."

"Bye." The Ravenclaw smiled and then pulled out a copy of _The Quibbler_ as they walked away.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked as they left the Great Hall.

Draco scratched at his chest and frowned.

"Decent. You?"

"Able to eat."

"Good."

"So, how much _are_ we telling the Ministry?" Hermione asked once they were out of earshot of everyone else.

Draco frowned.

"I only told them what happened – not what he said, not about the notes."

"Okay. We'll stick with that then."

Bill was waiting for them in the entrance.

"How are you feeling today?" He asked with a concerned look for Hermione.

"Much better." She forced a bright smile. "How are we travelling to the Ministry?"

"Portkey. It activates in fifteen minutes, so we should start walking now. We'll need to be clear of the wards to use it."

"Mum's worried about you," Bill said as he fell in step beside Hermione, leaving Draco to trail after them with a sour look on his face.

"She worries about everyone," Hermione pointed out.

"True. She'd like it if you came to the Burrow for Christmas."

"That would be lovely, but I'm going to stay here. I've got so much work to do for my apprenticeships – not to mention revising for NEWTs."

Bill shook his head.

"You never change," he said with a smirk.

Hermione was growing awfully tired of hearing that comment, but she shrugged it off. It was better, she supposed, if Bill did think she was only concerned about her studies.

"So, first stop is the Ministry. We're just going to speak with a few Aurors – and then we'll head over to Ollivander's and get you two set up with new wands. Maybe even catch a bite at the Leaky Cauldron."

"You aren't planning on stopping in and talking with Percy? It must be ages since the two of you got to chat."

Bill shrugged.

"I'm sure he's busy – and you two will be eager to get your new wands."

"We've waited a full day, another twenty minutes wouldn't make a difference." She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "I know things are still tense between the family and Percy. Is he going home for Christmas?"

"I haven't heard. Mum would love it, though."

Hermione nodded and gave him a sympathetic look.

"You should talk to him then, convince him to go."

"We'll see. If we aren't running too far behind schedule maybe I will."

Hermione smiled and Draco looked at her as though she had gone insane.

"Bill, do you know… are they going to use Veritaserum?"

"No, nothing so serious as that. They just want your story of Saturday night. Of course," he slanted a look at Draco, "it would be best for you to be as honest as possible. They only want to catch the Death Eater and protect you."

Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement. "Of course."

"Alright. This is far enough." Bill pulled out a butter beer bottle from his pocket and held it out. "Put a hand on. This should activate in just over a minute."

Hermione did as instructed and Draco, after rolling his eyes in irritation, followed suit, his hand half covering hers as he touched the bottle.

She looked over at him, but he was studiously avoiding her gaze. Bill, however, was frowning at the sight. Before he could say anything, however, Hermione felt a familiar tug at her navel and then she was spinning through time and space.

She landed in a heap, her fall cushioned by Draco as he too was taken unaware by their sudden landing. Bill, somehow, had managed to retain his feet. He held out a hand and assisted Hermione to her feet. He did not offer Draco the same courtesy.

Draco stood and brushed off his robes with a scowl on his face.

"Right, lets get a move on – we don't want to be late."

Bill led them through the busy Atrium at a fast pace, not bothering to look over his shoulder to ensure they were following him.

"You could try to look a little less pissed at the world," Hermione muttered to Draco.

He snorted. "I could," he agreed without changing his expression.

She rolled her eyes.

Bill had reached the security checkpoint and was registering his wand. The guard gestured to Hermione and Draco, but Bill shook his head and leaned in close, whispering something in his ear. He shook his head and looked at the two students with pity before waving them along.

Bill stopped by the lifts and held a door open, gesturing impatiently for them to hurry up.

Once they had clamored inside he pushed the button for the second level.

"Right – remember, be honest."

"Of course, Bill." Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes – what exactly did everyone think was going on here? She had absolutely no reason _not_ to tell them what had happened on Saturday… if she had no intention of revealing other evidence of prior events, that wasn't being dishonest, it was simply showing discretion.

They stepped off the lift and Bill strode down the corridor, seeming to know exactly where he was headed. He came to an abrupt stop outside of a door and knocked.

Hermione exchanged a look with Draco, and the Slytherin sighed and schooled his features into a more bland expression.

"Ah, Professor Weasley, we've been expecting you."

They stepped into the office and were greeted by a witch and wizard stationed at the two desks in the room.

The witch stood and approached them.

"I am Auror Proudfoot, Miss Granger, I will be taking your statement while my colleague," she gestured to the wizard, "Auror Savage, will be clarifying Mr. Malfoy's previous statement of events. Please, have a seat, and I will cast a Privacy charm."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at this, surprised that they were going to the trouble – Draco had been there, after all.

Bill closed the door to the office and took a seat against the wall, seeming content to wait until the proceedings were finished.

Hermione took the seat that Proudfoot gestured to and the witch cast the promised charm.

"Now, Miss Granger. As I understand, you were going about your patrols when you were apprehended by the…suspect."

"Yes," Hermione said.

"And what did he – or she look like?"

"I think it was a male. He was dressed as a Death Eater – black robes and a silver mask of a skull."

"Mm. And was he familiar in any way?"

"No, of course not."

"Of course not," Proudfoot agreed and wrote down a note.

"Now, what curses were you hit with?"

"The Cruciatius. Twice."

"Hm. And did anything else occur? I know that is a delicate question to ask, but…"

"No, I was bound, but nothing else happened." Except the attempted rape, but Hermione felt no need to share that information.

"Very well. How long have you been acquainted with Mr. Malfoy?"

"Eight years."

"Hm. And you two have been friends for how long?"

"We aren't."

"Oh. I see. Then, would you consider Mr. Malfoy to be an…enemy?"

"Of course not. He's a Prefect at the school. We've worked together very frequently this year."

"Hm. And you were held captive at his home, last year, and tortured. Correct?"

"Yes."

"And does Mr. Malfoy still have cause to hold a grudge against you?"

"He didn't torture me last year – or now." Hermione could see where this was leading and she didn't appreciate it. No wonder Draco wanted to avoid the Ministry.

"Oh. I see. The reports of Mr. Malfoy being a known Death Eater, then, are false? Are you suggesting that Mr. Malfoy has borne good will towards you for all eight years of your association?"

"No, of course not. But he wasn't the one who cursed me."

"It would seem unlikely, given his presence at the event. But how can we be sure it wasn't one of his associates?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Where was Mr. Zabini during all of this?"

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Are you implying that the _Head Boy_ cursed me and his best friend?"

"I am implying nothing. As lead investigator into this incident it is my job to look for all possible suspects. Surely you understand that. After all, we wouldn't want another innocent person to fall victim to this Death Eater." Proudfoot sat up in her chair. "I received an update on Mr. Krum's status this morning."

"Oh?" Hermione tried to look disinterested.

"He will make a full recovery. However, the nerve damage from the prolonged exposure to the curse has left some physical damage."

"But you just said he would make a full recovery."

"Indeed he will. It will take months of physical therapy, but he will regain full use of his arms and legs. However, his reflexes will never be what they were."

Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears.

"He won't be able to play Quidditch again."

Proudfoot shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid not. Now, Miss Granger, do you understand how important it is to catch this culprit?"

"Yes." Hermione fought back the wave of guilt that suddenly threatened to crash down on her. It _wasn't_ her fault that Viktor had been cursed. It wasn't Draco's either. It was the Death Eater out to destroy him. Even more reason to catch him.

She drew in a deep breath.

"Yes," she repeated. "I do understand. And if there is any way that I can assist, I am more than willing to do so. But I have told you all that I know, and I am convinced that neither Draco Malfoy nor Blaise Zabini had a hand in this. Draco was as much a victim as I."

"Hm. Do you believe that this event can be linked with the last attack on you and Mr. Malfoy? Or even the cursed Snitch at the last Quidditch game?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think that possibility can be ruled out. After all, I think that there are more reasons than not for a group of rogue Death Eaters to attack Draco and myself."

Proudfoot nodded and held Hermione's gaze for a moment longer.

"Very well. Thank you for coming to speak with us today." She waved her hand and Hermione felt the Privacy charm dissipate. She looked around and saw that Draco was standing by the door, his arms crossed and his scowl firmly back in place, while Bill was still sitting contentedly.

"Thank you, Professor Weasley, for your time today. Mr. Malfoy." Proudfoot nodded at them and then gestured for them to leave her office.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked as they left.

Bill checked his wristwatch.

"Just after ten."

"Oh… plenty of time, then, if you wanted to chat with Percy."

Bill arched an eyebrow at her.

"You're awfully insistent I do this."

Perhaps she was being a bit heavy-handed, Hermione realized.

She smiled up at him.

"I know. I just…I think about how much your family lost in the war and Ginny told me how hard it's been on Molly. I just don't want to see you miss this chance to connect with your brother. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just trying to meddle."

"No, it's fine. You're right, you know. I should talk to Percy. You two won't mind waiting?"

Hermione shook her head and gave Draco a pointed look.

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I've nothing better to do," he growled.

Bill smirked at his response and led them back to the lifts. They got on and Bill directed it towards Level One.

"Just a brief chat – if he's even in," Bill assured them.

"Take your time," Hermione said.

Draco rolled his eyes again and didn't bother to hide his annoyance with the side trip.

As they got off the lift Hermione pulled him back a pace.

"I have a plan, and you're going to ruin it if you don't stop being such a git," she reprimanded him.

Draco glared at her for a moment and then seemed to force himself to relax.

Up ahead, Bill was knocking on a door that Hermione presumed was Percy's. They walked over to his side just as the door opened.

"Yes – Bill? What are you doing here?"

Percy looked a bit frazzled, and Hermione read the nameplate on his door, _Assistant to the Minister_. She could imagine that Kingsley made him work very hard. The former Auror struck her as the type that abhorred paperwork, and she had no doubt that Percy took care of most of the more tedious aspects of the Minister's job.

"We were just at the Ministry. Thought I would stop by for a chat."

Percy looked behind Bill at Hermione and Draco.

"Hello Hermione. Mr. Malfoy."

"Hi, Percy," she said brightly.

"Well, I've got a few minutes to spare – would you like to come in?" He gestured and Bill stepped through the doorway. Hermione held up her hand, though.

"We'll just wait out here. I've had enough sitting for a while."

Bill nodded and looked slightly sympathetic.

"Don't get into any trouble," Percy joked just before closing the door.

Hermione waited until she could hear them talking inside before she took off down the hall. Draco caught up with her after a moment.

"What are you doing?" He hissed, looking around as though afraid they would be seen.

She rolled his eyes.

"The plan, I need to find the Record Keeper's office…" she looked at the nameplates on the doors they passed, trying to find the right door.

"The…Granger, you want to break into the Record Keeper's office and steal the inmate list for Azkaban?" He looked both impressed and exasperated.

"I'm not going to break in. Honestly, not everything we do has to be illegal." She stopped in front of the door that bore the name of Geoffrey Binks, Assistant Record Keeper. "Bingo."

"What?" Draco followed her gaze. "This is crazy."

Hermione took off her robe and held it out.

"Take this, will you?"

Draco did, looking more confused and irritated than ever.

"Granger –"

"I have a plan. Relax." Hermione rolled the hem of her skirt under, shortening it by a few inches. She then knelt down and tugged her socks lower. When she stood back up Draco was eyeing her legs appreciatively. "I guess this will work then," she muttered in amusement.

Draco jerked his gaze back up to her face.

"Granger –"

"Sh.. Get out of sight, will you?" Hermione raised her hand and knocked on the door as Malfoy took a few steps to the side and leaned against the wall.

A moment later the door opened and a middle aged, balding wizard was revealed.

"Yes?" He looked at Hermione in confusion. "May I help you, Miss?"

"Oh I hope so!" Hermione bit her lip and tried to look lost and innocent. "I'm a student at Hogwarts," she tugged on her tie and was both pleased and disgusted when Binks focused his gaze on her chest. "And I'm doing an extra credit project on the history of Azkaban…"

"Oh?"

She nodded. "Yes, and it's going really well… except, I'm stuck and I really _really_ need help."

Binks frowned.

"What sort of help?"

"Well, I'm writing biographies on a few of the more famous inmates – but there isn't any current information available."

"That's because those records are confidential," Binks announced. "I'm in charge of keeping those."

"Oh. That must be a dangerous job."

"Not re –"

"How exciting," Hermione gushed over him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco looking aghast at her.

"Well, I suppose it can be." Binks chuckled and gestured to the inside of his office. "I could show you the system, if you like."

Hermione checked herself from rolling her eyes.

"Oh, that would be wonderful! Do you have everything organized by topic? Or date? Or –"

Binks chuckled.

"You are very curious."

_You have no idea_, Hermione thought.

"By date, and then sorted by topic, importance, and relation. Here – I'll show you how I file the prisoner records."

Hermione couldn't believe her good look at this and followed him over the filing cabinet in one corner of his office.

Binks tapped it with his wand.

"Azkaban Prisoner Files." He said, and a draw shot open to reveal literally hundreds of files.

"How… neat. So, where is the master list of inmates."

"Ah, see, it magically updates itself whenever we accept a new prisoner – so, typically, it doesn't actually exist. I have to conjure it."

"Prisoner List," he said and tapped the drawer. A piece of parchment floated it and started to unroll. It stood nearly as tall as Hermione.

"Oh… I had no idea Azkaban was so _large_."

Binks winked at her.

"Well, we've got to make sure young ladies like yourself are kept safe."

"Oh, thank you." Hermione reached out to touch the parchment. "This would be so perfect for my research…" she bit her lip again and turned to Binks with pleading eyes. "Are you sure I couldn't take it… I promise I won't let anyone else see it."

"Well…"

"Oh please, Geoffrey. If I don't have a perfect grade on this project I might not pass my class – and I need a NEWT in History of Magic if I want to work here at the Ministry…please help me."

He seemed to waver, but then gave in with a laugh.

"Oh, why not. I'm not one to stand in the way of scholarship after all. Here you go." He tapped the scroll and it rolled up and bounced into his hand. He held it out to her. "Good luck with your paper, Miss…"

"Brown. Lavender Brown," Hermione answered without hesitation.

"Well good luck Miss Brown. I do hope I will see you again."

Hermione smiled but couldn't bring herself to offer him any encouragement. She exited his office and waved to him.

"Thank you again, Geoffrey." Then she walked away as fast as she could.

Draco caught up to her and passed her cloak over wordlessly.

"Thanks," she said and wrapped it around her shoulders. She put the scroll in an interior pocket.

"I can't believe you just did that," he said after another moment.

"Neither can I," she confessed. "Who knew the Ministry employed such lechers."

"Doubtful they didn't expect an assault from _you_ or they would have been better prepared. Merlin, he would have given you the password to the Minister's office if you'd asked for it."

Hermione smiled.

"He was rather charmed by me, wasn't he?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"So, now that we've got the list… what exactly are we going to do with it? I thought we agreed the Death Eater wasn't a prisoner."

"He's not," Hermione assured him. "But I think he visited someone there, the same weekend your father was murdered. He didn't have special access – he just had access, period."

"So… again, who are we looking for on this list?"

"A woman. A female Death Eater, maybe… or anyone convicted of Dark Magic in the last twenty years or so."

"Oh." Draco looked thoughtful. "You think this woman… this man's lover was a Death Eater?"

"Maybe, but maybe not. What kind of women did your father hang around?"

Draco rolled his eyes at the question.

"Any he could get his hands on. So all of them, really. But – I see where you're going with this. He was involved with a number of Dark witches, over the years."

"Exactly. So perhaps she's in prison now… and the Death Eater came to visit her, and killed your father while he was here."

"Maybe," Draco said.

"Look – it's the best idea I've got. We have to start somewhere. Besides, I think that it makes sense if our Death Eater had access to Azkaban – maybe he was visiting a relative."

Draco nodded and seemed to finally agree.

"It's worth looking into," he said as they came to a stop beside Percy's door. He turned to her suddenly. "Thanks."

Hermione frowned in confusion.

"For what?"

"Using your feminine whiles to charm a Ministry lackey into handing over confidential information. I'm touched."

Hermione smiled.

"Of course. We are… friends, after all." She looked at him, waiting for a reaction.

He tensed, but then nodded.

"Right. Friends." He leaned against the wall beside her and, after a moment, laced his fingers into her own.

Hermione shifted closer to him and bumped her shoulder against his. She enjoyed being this close to him, and was amazed that he was risking it in public – then again, they weren't at school, and it wasn't as though anyone else was around to see them.

She sighed.

"Stop thinking so much," he admonished her.

"Okay. I'll work on it."

She looked over at him and he was smirking. Suddenly his expression changed and he reached over to brush her hair behind her ear.

"You looked beautiful on Saturday," he said. "I…so many things went wrong, but I really wish I had danced with you."

Hermione found herself smiling at him as his sincerity charmed her.

"Draco –"

"Stop by again sometime."

They jumped apart at the sound of Percy's voice as the door to his office opened.

"I will. And I'll tell Mum to expect you at Christmas?"

"Yes, of course. Hermione – try and keep out of trouble. You as well, Mr. Malfoy." Percy looked as condescending as ever as he delivered his warnings and Hermione nodded solemnly.

"We'll try out best," she assured him.

He looked skeptical but shrugged and closed his door.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Bill said as he led them down the hall.

"We kept ourselves occupied," Hermione assured him.

"I trust you didn't get into any trouble?"

Hermione and Draco exchanged a look.

"Of course not. You really think that _Granger_ is going to go looking for trouble here?" Draco snorted. "She worships the rules – and this is the place where they get made. I had to pry her off some old bloke when she tried to kiss his robes, but other than that she managed to behave."

Bill frowned and seemed unsure whether or not to take Draco at his word.

"Anyway," Hermione said loudly, "I'm just about ready for a new wand. Could we please go to Ollivander's?"

"Finally," Draco muttered, but he was smirking as he said it.

Hermione wasn't sure what, exactly, had changed between them, but she knew that something had. She hoped it was for the better, but her experiences with Draco had taught her that nothing was ever simple.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: So… I have to apologize for how long it took me to update. I finally succumbed to _Twilight_ and spent the last few days reading all of those…. But, it's out of my system now (though, seriously, did anyone else read those and think they were… totally weird? Good, but…anyway…it was nice to see Bella go from being a, well, a_ liability_ to saving the day in the end. Also, did anyone else feel like the major conflicts – in each book – were solved WAY too easily… Especially at the end there. Really? Really? They just decided to go home and have a think?). Back to Draco and Hermione.

Also: things at work are picking up, so it will likely be every other day that I update, in the future. But I will try to update as often as possible, I promise.

Warning: A gentle reminder, this is rated M, and there will be graphic-ish material in this chapter…and not the Blaise/Viridian variety… so, get your hopes up and see what happens. =)

Thanks for all the reviews!

* * *

Another Chance

Chapter Seventeen

"Mr. Malfoy, a word."

The NEWT potions class had just ended, and, for the first time, Draco and Potter had managed to work together to complete their assignment, resulting in the first passing grade for Potter all semester, and the third time that Draco had handed in work ahead of Blaise and Granger.

He had just packed up his books when Prince called out to him.

Granger shot him a questioning look, but she followed Blaise out of the room with the rest of the students.

Draco was mildly irritated that she had forgiven Blaise so easily – it was her that had suffered from his carelessness, after all – when even Draco hadn't been able to speak with his best friend for fear of cursing him.

Resignedly he set his books down and turned back to Prince.

"Sir."

Prince waited until the room had emptied before he closed the door and turned to Draco.

"I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Draco."

The blonde frowned in confusion.

Prince sat on the edge of his desk and ran a hand through his hair. He already looked disheveled, and Draco was beginning to wonder if there wasn't something wrong with the man.

"I'm afraid I have failed miserably in my duties to you."

"Er – I think it's rather my own fault that I didn't come down here and brew Sunday," Draco pointed out.

"I'm not talking about your apprenticeship. Merlin knows you've advanced at an amazing rate and I'm not going to begrudge you a day to recover from being cursed – though, now that you bring it up. You could do with perhaps avoiding getting hit with Dark magic for a bit, it might help your studies if you weren't spending nearly every weekend in the infirmary."

Draco smirked.

"I'll take it into consideration. If this isn't about my apprenticeship then what –"

"I made my cousin a promise, before he died. He asked that I take on his responsibilities as your godfather, that I look out for you and protect you. I'm afraid I've done a miserable job of that."

Draco felt his eyes widen at that revelation.

"I had no idea."

"You seemed to be getting on remarkably well, considering your…status after the war, until recently and now you've been attacked by Death Eaters twice. Is there any _reason_ behind the attacks, that you are aware of?"

Draco considered whether or not to tell Prince the truth of the situation. The fact was, even if Snape had asked his cousin to look out for Draco – and Prince certainly hadn't produced a letter or any proof of this – Draco still didn't know if he was trustworthy.

"My father was murdered in Azkaban," Draco said eventually. "I have a suspicion that it wasn't by inmates, but by someone out to get revenge on my family."

"You think Lucius' murderer is targeting you?"

Draco shrugged.

"It's possible. It would certainly help explain things – my family wasn't too popular, towards the end, and it's highly likely that any Death Eaters out there wouldn't mind coming after us. After all, my mother did allow Potter to escape, in a manner."

Prince scowled.

"Is the Ministry aware?"

"The Ministry doesn't think it's worth the resources to investigate my father's murder. I'm convinced they're only looking into this incident because Granger was involved. After all, it wouldn't do for a hero of the war to be tortured to death, would it?"

"No, I suppose not. I – Draco, I know you have more reason than must to guard your trust. But know that, if ever you need me, I am here. As your mentor and as…someone who cares very much about your future."

The sincerity of his statement made Draco uncomfortable.

"I appreciate that, sir."

"One last thing. I should have given you this before, but I only just finished reading it." Prince held out a slim black book. Draco took it from him.

"What is it?"

"Snape's journal."

"He kept a journal?"

Draco resisted the urge to open the book immediately.

"Yes – cleverly warded, of course, and a damned nuisance to read. It's encoded. I think, all things considered, it might be a decent way to get your mind off things."

Draco smirked as he fingered the leather binding.

"Yes, it is rather. Thank you, sir."

Prince inclined his head.

"Of course. Now, I expect you tomorrow afternoon – you've got a burn salve to perfect, after all."

"Yes sir."

Draco slipped the journal into a pocket and then hefted the rest of his books.

He left the classroom a great deal more enthusiastic about facing the rest of the day. The chance to delve into the inner thoughts of his godfather was tempting, and the accompanying puzzle of the code a very entertaining prospect for an evening activity.

"Draco."

He turned at the sound of his voice, hand going for his wand instinctively.

Daphne Greengrass was standing by the door, alone and unarmed.

"Daphne."

"I thought we might have lunch together."

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Don't you have a standing invitation to eat at Nott's right side?"

She rolled her eyes.

"In case you hadn't noticed – Nott's still at St. Mungo's."

"I had noticed, actually."

She shot him a sharp look and fell into step beside him.

"I simply want to speak with you," she said.

"We're speaking now," he pointed out.

"Can you honestly not tear yourself away from Blaise and Granger for one meal?"

Draco scowled. The past two days _had_ been rather awkward, as Granger tried to make conversation between him and Blaise while neither of them risked speaking to the other. It might be a nice change to eat with Daphne, all things considered.

"Is there a reason why you want to be seen with me?" He asked.

She smirked.

"I can't just have an insatiable urge to be insulted and ignored by the most pretentious boy in school?" She fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.

Draco snorted.

"You know you love me."

"Until my dying day," she assured him.

They stepped into the Great Hall and Draco scanned the room for an empty table. He led Daphne over to one that was near the right side of the hall, in plain sight of most of the Slytherins, but nowhere near their housemates.

Daphne sat down and started to eat without another word. Curious, Draco followed suit. He resisted the urge to look for Granger, and wondered how she would take this change in seating arrangements.

Lunch was halfway over before he lost his patience.

"Alright, out with it Daphne. What are you playing at?"

Her blue eyes widened in mock innocence, but he continued to glare and eventually she sighed.

"Draco, you realize that Nott's out of commission for this entire week?"

He gestured for her to continue.

"When you came storming into the common room Sunday what happened? Everyone just fell back into their old habits and they _listened_ to you. Vaisey practically soiled himself, you know."

"Your point?"

"My point is that you are Lord Malfoy, and if you want it, Slytherin can be yours again."

Draco considered her point. Honestly, with everything else going on – schoolwork, Granger, his stalker, Quidditch – he hadn't given much thought to what the return of his fortune meant in relation to his position in his house.

"Why would I even want it? Besides that, _you_ might have forgotten, but the upper years kicked my arse the first night back, and I don't think they're likely to forget that."

"Draco, it took sixteen of them to put a dent in you. Even then you were as arrogant as ever. Honestly, the day you commit a humble act I'll kiss Harry Potter."

Draco thought back to the events of Saturday night, including his attempt at begging for Granger to be spared. As much as it would amuse him to see Daphne kiss the Boy Who Lived, it wasn't worth sharing that humiliating detail with her.

"Speaking of, surely you realize the position you've put yourself in."

"Daphne, I'm always aware of my surroundings," he said.

She rolled her eyes.

"Of course. Then you see what a coup you've managed to pull off – you're perfectly in line to take Slytherin back, and you've got the Head Boy _and_ the Head Girl supporting you – which means you're one step away from Harry Potter. Draco, you're better positioned than anyone else in the school at this point. And richer."

"I might point out that we graduate in a few months, and it won't matter _who_ the Slytherins listen to anymore."

"Oh, silly me, to think our stupid school politics affect the way we live once we get out of here. Have you been spending that much time with Granger that you've forgotten what's going to happen when we leave here? I can guarantee that Nott and Parkinson have entered into negations already, and you realize that most of us are set to inherit quite a bit of money and control upon graduation. The time to establish future alliances is now – that's always been the plan for Seventh Year. You've never had to think about it because you've had everything mapped out. Now, though, you've got the chance to change things to suit your own needs."

"You've been doing a lot of thinking about _my_ future."

"Mine as well. You know how cutthroat wizarding society is – can you imagine how unstoppable you will be with the support of Harry Potter and the respect of our generation of Purebloods as well?"

Draco frowned.

"You're assuming, of course, that I care at all."

"Oh, right. Because you are clearly the kind to go off and live as a hermit. Admit it – you miss being feared and respected. You _miss_ walking into our common room and having everyone anxious for your next move. Sunday felt good, didn't it, to finally tell them off and put them in their place?"

It had felt good, Draco could admit, and even these past few days, when he entered the common room there had been an element of fear and respect from the upper years that had been lacking all year. The younger students still looked to him almost as they looked to Nott to set the tone of their actions… but yes, it had been nice to see a glimmer of his former power restored.

"Why bother pointing this out to me? What do you stand to gain?"

"Aside from the fact that I can't stand Nott and I'm sick of pandering to him and Parkinson?" She shrugged. "I don't like the atmosphere, or the attitude of the upper years. It reminds me too much of Fifth and Sixth year, and I think you remember how disastrous that turned out."

Draco scowled as he did, in fact, remember quite clearly.

"They do seem to be as racist as ever," he commented.

"I enjoy my place at the top of society as much as the next girl who has inbred suitors lined up around the corner, but we've got to face facts: the world is changing, and Potter and his people are going to be at the top soon. I'll be damned if I become meaningless and powerless while they take over."

He was amused by her savage tone.

By Slytherin standards, Daphne was an odd girl. Even as a first year it had been obvious she would grow into a beauty, and with her cool blue eyes and dark blonde hair she was a striking woman. At times, the curve of her lips when she sneered almost reminded Draco of his own mother, and he wondered if she was related to the Blacks in some way.

Daphne had always been aloof, however: more concerned with her studies than the boys who chased after her. She had two older brothers – one three years ahead of her and another five years ahead – and both had taken to Dark magic likes ducks to water, and their threatening presence had kept her from being harassed by even the most determined, hormonal boy. Unfortunately, they had had the poor sense to get themselves killed early on in the war, and Daphne had spent much of last year as Draco had – head down and walking in the shadows more often than not. She had made it out of that dark period relatively unscathed, and, unlike Draco, she had earned her position as Prefect by helping to protect some of the younger students during the final battle.

They had never been particularly close, excepting one rather disastrous attempt at intimacy, but Draco considered her to be one of the few trustworthy students of his year. Daphne was out to set the world on its ear, that much she made no attempt to hide, but Draco was intrigued by her attempt to see him restored to power.

"I'm still not convinced you don't have an ulterior motive."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm a _Slytherin_, of course I have an ulterior motive." He looked at her steadily and eventually she sighed. "I want in. You're going places, and I want to be there. Like I said, I'm tired of pandering to Nott and Parkinson. I want something better."

"Er… Daphne, you're a lovely girl, but I'm not –"

"Don't flatter yourself, Draco. Once was enough for me, I assure you." She shuddered.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," he growled.

She smirked. "As first times go, it wasn't too much of a disaster for either of us, but, really, I've moved on – as hard as it was to get over you, I think I've finally managed. Besides, you aren't easy enough to control. _When_ I find someone, he will fall all over himself to please me. You would never do that."

He was amused by her certainty.

"Then I'm still in the dark."

"I'm using you to get in good with Potter, Weasley, and Granger." Her tone made it seem as though she were explaining elementary transfigurations.

"Right. Because you think that they're going to be the toast of polite society."

"No, they will _be_ polite society. But that's only part of it." Daphne tossed her blonde hair over one shoulder. "Granger's going to make me rich and famous one day. I just need her to tolerate me enough to do it."

"Really? How?"

"I'm not telling _you_. So – have we got a deal? I'll help smooth your way back into Slytherin and you'll get me an opportunity to befriend Granger?"

Draco looked over at the girl in question. She was sitting with Blaise and Luna Lovegood, of all people, and the three seemed to be perfectly content without his presence. He scowled as Granger laughed at something Blaise said.

Daphne cleared her throat and Draco looked back at her.

"This scheme to make you rich and famous… would it happen to benefit Granger as well?"

"Enormously," Daphne assured him. "Honestly, the two of us are going to revolutionize the Wizarding world. She'll be thanking me by the time we're through."

Draco was immensely intrigued, but it was clear that Daphne was keeping her plans to herself.

"I'll join you lot for dinner, then," Draco said and stood.

"Excellent. And?"

He rolled his eyes at her determination.

"And you should join us for lunch tomorrow."

Daphne grinned in triumph.

"Great. See you later, then." She sauntered away without a backward glance, and Draco found himself watching her in amusement.

"What was that all about?" Granger asked as she walked up to him. Blaise, Draco noted, had opted to wait for Longbottom to finish his lunch.

"I'm not entirely sure yet," Draco told her.

Granger frowned, and it was clear she didn't believe him.

"Blaise and I were thinking about a planning session, tonight after dinner. Care to join us in the common room?"

She was biting her lip again and Draco forced his gaze away from her mouth.

"Sure – my life, after all."

"Exactly. How would you feel if Harry and Neville joined us?"

Draco sneered.

"Why not bring Weasley in as well? I'm sure he'll have _loads_ to contribute."

"I'm not speaking with Ron at the moment. Harry told me he went and got himself a broken nose during the Halloween Ball," Granger slanted him an amused look, "and I can't really tolerate that kind of foolhardiness."

"Right, because getting a broken nose is so much worse than being attacked by a Death Eater."

"At least I don't do anything by halves," she pointed out.

Draco smirked at her and she smiled back. The expression dimmed after a moment as she looked around them.

"Granger, look – " he had no idea what he wanted to say to her, and now she was looking at him expectantly.

"Longbottom and Potter are welcome to join the planning session," he said at last.

She nodded, clearly disappointed that he hadn't said something else, but walked into the Arithmancy classroom and took her usual seat by the windows. Draco sat behind her and watched as Blaise walked into the classroom. The Head Boy looked over at Granger and Draco with about as much enthusiasm as he would greet the opportunity to be exposed to Dragon Pox.

Blaise seemed to pull himself together and he walked over and took his customary seat beside Draco.

"Draco." His voice and posture were stiff.

"Blaise," the blonde responded in kind.

Granger turned around, no doubt to order them to behave, but Daphne approached and sat down beside her, in Eleanor Cartwright's usual seat.

"Draco," she greeted with a smile. "Blaise," she repeated the gesture and then turned to Granger.

"Hermione."

Granger looked momentarily speechless.

"Daphne," she said at last.

"I heard a rumor that Professor Vector is assigning a group project today – I was wondering, would you mind if I worked with you on it?"

Granger's brows furrowed as she tried to work out what exactly Daphne was trying to get at. To Draco's knowledge, the two girls had never even spoken outside of Prefect meetings, and it was entirely likely that Saturday night was the first time Daphne had ever even been decent towards her.

"I don't see why not," Granger said eventually and Daphne smiled.

Blaise turned to Draco with a confused expression, and then seemed to remember that they currently weren't on speaking terms and refocused his gaze to the front of the class.

Draco was amused, despite his continued anger.

It turned out that Vector did indeed assign a group project, and the four of them scheduled to meet over the weekend and start working on the proof needed to complete the assignment.

The fact that Daphne was being nice had obviously thrown Granger, but she seemed to recover from it quickly enough and actually talked to the other girl as they walked together towards the library after class.

Draco was amused to see Daphne move so quickly, but he was also pleased that she and Granger seemed able to converse and not bait the other constantly. Unlike he and Granger did, unfortunately.

"Draco."

He turned and looked at Blaise, surprised that he had stuck around after class.

"I realize that I betrayed your trust, and your faith. Granger could have died, or been tortured into insanity. I failed, and I wouldn't blame you for never forgiving me."

Draco arched an eyebrow and took in his friend's genuinely troubled expression. Blaise really did regret his failure, and it seemed he was holding it against himself more than Draco was. As angry as he was with Blaise, Draco knew that a fair amount of that anger should more properly be directed at himself. He sighed.

"Blaise. Granger's more trouble than either of us figured. If she wants trouble she's going to charge into it regardless of whether or not someone is keeping an eye out. I…shouldn't have asked that of you."

The other boy scowled, and it was clear he had anticipated a much more difficult struggle.

"Look – I've got to get to practice. If you want – continue to beat yourself up about it, fine by me."

That earned a smirk from Blaise and he fell into step with Draco, headed towards the Quidditch pitch.

"No, I'm good. All that self-hatred and guilt really isn't my style."

"Yeah, you never did wear the tortured soul look very well."

"Not as well as you," Blaise confirmed with another smirk. Then he shrugged. "Guess I'll just resume my devastatingly handsome and unattainable look instead."

Draco rolled his eyes. He felt better, somehow, now that he was talking to Blaise again. Nearly losing Granger had been terrifying – and whatever was going on between them now was nothing like it had been before. He could use Blaise's support and snark.

"So…think you'll manage to put up a valiant fight this weekend or will Hufflepuff take the game in an unheard of, totally unforeseen blaze of glory?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I think even _we_ can manage the Hufflepuffs, Blaise. Sorry to disappoint if you put money on them."

Blaise shrugged.

"It's only money. Besides – you can't guarantee a victory."

"Right, but I _can_ guarantee we're going to kick their asses," Draco qualified with a smug look.

"Well, enjoy running the team into the ground as you try to get them into decent shape. I'll see you at dinner." This last was said over his shoulder as Blaise turned to go.

"Er – wait."

Blaise turned and arched an eyebrow.

"I'll be sitting with the upper year Slytherins," Draco said, his gaze fierce as he met his friend's.

Blaise's face was blank for a moment, but then he smirked.

"Daphne put you up to this, didn't she? Today at lunch?"

"She didn't put me up to it. She simply reminded me that I had every right to each wherever I want."

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Leaving me to eat with Granger _again_."

"You've never complained before," Draco pointed out with a scowl.

"That's because you've never skipped a meal with her to eat with a _girl_," Blaise said with a sneer. "If she was bad at lunch… she's going to be impossible at dinner." He shuddered and Draco couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, I'm so glad my pain makes you happy."

"No, it's just… Granger's jealous of Daphne. How bizarre."

Blaise arched an eyebrow.

"So she doesn't have anything to be jealous about then? I don't have to break the news that you're leaving her for the inbred sycophants?"

"What? Of course not. It's just dinner. Tell her that I know it will be hard, but somehow she'll manage to survive without my dazzling company for two meals."

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"No thanks. I like having my body intact. Enjoy your meal, _Lord Malfoy_."

* * *

Hermione looked over at the table again, but there was no change in Draco's behavior. He seemed to have completely and easily fallen back into his role as the Prince of Slytherin. He had Pansy on one side – though she looked sullen rather than vapidly adoring – and Daphne on the other. The rest of the seventh year Slytherins were arrayed around them, and it was obvious to anyone who looked that Draco was firmly in control of them.

It was almost like the last few months had never happened – like they had never ganged together their first night back to nearly kill him.

"If looks could kill," Blaise muttered.

She turned her glare on him and he pretended to writhe in pain. Beside him Neville rolled his eyes.

"I just don't get it," she muttered. "Doesn't he realize that one of them might be trying to kill him?"

Blaise frowned, and it was obvious he had not thought of that.

"I thought we agreed it wasn't a student," he said.

Hermione frowned. "No, we agreed that it wasn't a student who was masterminding this thing – that doesn't mean he can't have students under his control. We already know he likes to use accomplices – even students, like Nott."

"Still no proof that Nott didn't just curse Krum for the hell of it," Blaise pointed out and then grinned wickedly. "Maybe _he_ was jealous about you too – how many people are in love with you these days, Granger?"

She was about to respond with a scathing comment when Neville cut in.

"Isn't this discussion something we should reserve for later?"

"No, I can give Granger a hard time about her love life any time I like," Blaise assured him. Neville glared and Blaise scowled. "Or I can wait until later and do it in front of Draco for maximum effect. Brilliant idea, Neville." He grinned as the Gryffindor shook his head in despair.

Neville shook his head, but a grin was tugging at his lips.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the both of them, and wondered, yet again, what kind of relationship they were in. Blaise had made it clear, to her at least, that he wanted Viridian for purely physical reasons – and that Neville meant both more and less to him than that. But Hermione wasn't blind: for all that Blaise claimed to think of Viridian for sex, it was clear that those same thoughts weren't exactly at the back of his mind when he looked at Neville.

Clearly, it was complicated.

Hermione sighed and looked over at the Slytherin table again.

Daphne had turned her body towards Draco and seemed to be whispering to him. He smirked back at her and Hermione turned away. If Draco wanted to risk his life to flirt with his _savior_, then that was his own business.

"Granger, you ready to head up?" Blaise asked suddenly.

Hermione shoved her plate away and immediately grabbed her bag.

"Yes." She looked over at Harry, seated with Ron, Lavender, and Ginny, and nodded. He stood up, bid his friends good night, and crossed the hall to exit with her.

"Time to save Malfoy's life?" He joked, grinning at her.

Hermione scowled.

"Why even bother?" She muttered.

Harry looked momentarily taken aback, but then he shrugged.

"My thoughts exactly. You know, if we wanted to expedite the process – I've got a few thoughts."

Hermione elbowed him.

"No, don't go to the trouble. He's doing just fine on his own."

She sighed and shook her head.

"Honestly, we're trying to save his life and he goes and sits with the Slytherins!"

"I wondered about that." Harry shrugged. "I thought you might have suggested he go and spy on them or something."

Hermione frowned and wondered if that was what he was doing. Still, it was a stupid idea – more likely to get him hurt, or killed, than actually be useful.

She sighed.

"So are you and Ginny back on speaking terms?" She asked him, desperate to change the subject.

Harry frowned.

"It seems that way."

"But you don't seem happy about it," she pointed out.

"No," he agreed. "She doesn't see anything but us – that's her future. The two of us. "

"And a family," Hermione prompted, knowing how keen Harry was to start one of those.

"Yeah," he said grudgingly. "But maybe…Hermione, Ginny's been there all along, you know?"

"You don't owe her anything, Harry. You don't owe anyone – haven't you spent enough of your life seeing to other people's needs?" Hermione found herself getting angry again, but this time for his benefit. Why couldn't Harry just live his own life and be free?

He sighed. "I know that, Hermione. I just…" His hands tightened into fists. "I want her to be happy. I do. I just… I'm not going to make her happy. She wants me to be Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived. She wants me to be an Auror, she wants me to be important."

Hermione wrapped an arm around his waist.

"And you just want to be Harry."

He nodded and then shook his head.

"Hey, at least I don't have someone out to get me, anymore. Maybe we should start calling Malfoy the Boy Who Lived to be Tortured."

"Not funny, Harry." But she smiled and he grinned back at her.

They reached the common room and she gave the password. They were the first to arrive, and Hermione was fairly certain that Neville and Blaise would be making a stop by the wine cellar before they came up. And Draco… who knew how long it would be before he tore himself away from the riveting conversation at the Slytherin table.

Harry threw himself onto the couch and Hermione joined him after toeing off her shoes.

"How are you holding up these days? I hear Krum's on the mend."

"Yes, but he'll never be able to play professional Quidditch again… the nerve damage was too extensive. I'm much better, obviously." She forced a laugh. "It's too bad, really, that Nott didn't cast on me and the Death Eater on him. It's not like I need quick reflexes to play Quidditch."

Harry frowned for a moment but then shook his head.

"There you go doubting yourself. I know that, deep in your heart, all you've ever wanted is to play Quidditch. Puddlemere, right?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, exactly."

Blaise, Neville, and Draco all entered the portrait the next moment. As predicted, Blaise and Neville each carried a bottle of wine. Harry arched an eyebrow at this.

"Don't ask. It's just something we do."

"What? Hold drunken orgies in the Head's common room? If I'd have known that was one of the perks I would have begged McGonagall for Head Boy."

Draco walked in, scowling as he took note of Harry sitting on the couch in his customary spot, and sat down in an armchair opposite the couch instead.

Neville took the other armchair without thinking, and Blaise rolled his eyes before sitting down between Harry and Hermione.

"Alright. Draco – glasses please – thank you. Now, shall we discuss the seventeen different theories that Granger has developed for who Lucius' murderer could be?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but accepted the glass of wine that Blaise passed to her. She waited until everyone was settled before she started.

"First, let's discuss the things we _do_ know about the murderer. He has access to Azkaban, he has access to Hogwarts. He has the ability to use Unforgivables – so he's at least moderately powerful, and definitely a dark wizard. He seems to be very familiar with Draco's family, he knows that Narcissa is in Paris… and he's been in a position to observe us, on several occasions."

Draco was scowling by the end of her summary.

"Don't forget about the part where he drained my father's body of blood and magic," he added in a seemingly bored tone.

Hermione looked over at him, but Draco was looking out of the window.

"Right. That part too. I've been researching it, but the library doesn't have much on that sort of spell…" Hermione trailed off and realized what an idiot she was being. She set down her wine glass and sprinted to her room straight to her bookcase.

She found the book she was looking for immediately and came back out, already leafing through it.

"Um… Granger, I don't think now's the best time to be reading for pleasure," Blaise said lightly.

"I'm not. This is the book Viktor got me for my birthday. I'm sure I saw something…"

"Your birthday! Hermione, I'm such a prat! I completely forgot!" Harry burst out.

She didn't bother to look up at him.

"Harry, it's fine… I just…" She frowned as she looked through the index, but there was nothing specifically related to draining blood from a body.

"Pass it over," Draco commanded.

Hermione scowled.

"Why?"

"Aren't you the mastermind here? I'll look through it while you explain the rest to them." He gestured imperiously with his hand. Still scowling, Hermione passed it over to him.

"So… back to what we know. Are you sure it's a man?" Neville asked.

"Yes," Hermione said.

He frowned.

"But, it could be a woman, you haven't seen who it is or anything? Right?"

Hermione felt her face flush.

"If it was the murderer on Saturday, and not one of his pawns… it's definitely a man."

All eyes focused on her and Hermione forced herself to take a sip of wine.

"I thought nothing happened before –" Draco began. Hermione chanced a look at him. His face had gone completely white, and he was gripping the book so tightly that she was afraid he would rip the binding apart.

"Nothing did happen," she assured him, afraid to look at anyone else. She was embarrassed enough already.

It took Draco a few seconds to realize what she was implying, and then his face flushed with rage.

"That sick, twisted bastard," he growled and threw the book aside as he jumped up and started to pace the room.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then Neville cleared his throat.

"So… then, if that was the murderer, we agree that it's a man. Still, I don't think we should rule out the possibility that that was another pawn."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"It was him on Saturday," Draco said, his voice strained.

"How do you know, Malfoy?" Harry demanded. "It could have been someone Imperiused, like before."

Draco shook his head.

"No, it was him. He wasn't going to leave that to someone else. He was watching, in Hogsmeade – and he wanted to be in on the action the second time around. He wanted to cause Granger pain, not have someone else do it."

"Draco –"

He turned and glared at her. Hermione swallowed at the anger in his gaze.

"Fine. Moving on. As Draco pointed out, he watched what happened in Hogsmeade. So, we need to investigate the area and see who owns the houses there – it wasn't possible for him to be anywhere on the street."

"Unless he was using an Invisibility Cloak," Harry pointed out.

"True…" Hermione bit her lip as she tried to think through that possibility. "I still think we need to look at those houses. Does anyone know if a break-in was reported?"

The boys shook their heads.

"So we should investigate that as well." Hermione reached into her school bag and grabbed a sheet of parchment and a ballpoint pen, her preferred writing tool when not doing an assignment or taking notes in public. Everyone but Harry regarded the tool with curiosity.

"It's just a bloody pen," Harry muttered, earning a smile from Hermione.

"Is the ink inside?" Blaise asked.

She nodded.

"Yes. I'll get you one for Christmas, now – "

"Christmas," Draco said suddenly.

"Yeah, that holiday where everyone sends you loads of presents because you're such a git, and you never send any back," Blaise clarified.

Draco frowned, but not at the joke.

"My mother's in Paris, and she's planning on staying there for Christmas. He said he was going to pay her a visit next…."

"After he's done with me," Hermione reminded him.

Draco's jaw clenched.

"Yes. After he's done with you. What are your plans for the holiday?"

"I'm staying here, of course."

Draco scowled and looked over at Harry.

"Er, you could come and stay with me, Hermione," he said after a moment.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Thanks for that really thoughtful offer Harry," she said, looking straight at Draco, "but I'm staying here. Professor Smith is going to teach me how to become an Animagus."

"Wicked," Harry said.

"Do you honestly not know how to say no to more schoolwork?" Blaise asked, incredulous.

"This isn't school work. This is actually really helpful." She grinned at him. "Don't be jealous."

Blaise leaned back on the couch and scowled.

"Potter, where are you over the break?" Draco demanded.

"Burrow, but I can change that. I could… stay here with Hermione."

"No, you won't. I'll be perfectly safe here."

"Clearly you won't be. Remember Saturday night?"

She glared at Draco, but he returned the look.

"No. This is the first holiday Harry has had without having to worry about someone killing him. He will not spend it here."

"Neither will you," Draco said.

"What? Am I going to Paris with you? I'm sure Narcissa would _love_ that."

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he looked over her head at Blaise.

"Well?"

"I have to go home. My Father has decided it's time for me to get engaged."

"Really?" Neville asked, trying to sound casual despite the look of anger on his face.

"It's nothing," Blaise muttered. "But I have to go."

Draco was back to pacing.

"Blaise… you've got a house, don't you, in Naples?"

"Of course. You've been there."

"Can my mother stay there? For the holiday? I'll pay rent."

"Um… of course. I thought she was insistent about spending Christmas in Paris."

"I'll get her there. I just need her somewhere else."

"And you?"

Draco scowled and looked at Hermione.

"I'm staying here."

"No! I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of myself. Besides, you really want to leave your mother alone? At least I know what I'm up against. She doesn't even –"

"Then stay with one of us!"

"I have already made a commitment to stay here," she ground out. She had thought, after Monday, that Draco would trust her a little more. Clearly she was wrong.

"I'm staying here," Neville said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. "For the holiday," he clarified.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Fantastic. You can have Longbottom as an honor guard. At least he might stumble into a spell by accident and buy you some time."

"I can take care of myself, and Hermione, Malfoy. I'm not sure if you remember, but I happened to fight on the winning side at the Final Battle? Remember, that big fight where we kicked your arse and all of your bigot friends?" Neville's jaw was clenched and the two boys glared at each other for a full minute before Hermione interrupted them.

"Okay, then that's that. Neville's here, so he can help me look around in Hogsmeade. Besides, I'll be spending most of my time with Professor Smith – I really don't think anyone is going to attack me when I'm in his office."

Draco was still scowling, but Hermione reasoned that nothing, at this point, would satisfy him and her both.

"Okay, now that we've got everyone's holiday plans worked out. I have a theory, based on what the Death Eater told us."

She waited until she had everyone's attention before continuing. "I think it's someone related to a former Death Eater. Draco and I agree that Lucius was somehow involved with a woman –"

"Just one?" Blaise muttered.

" – who either became a Death Eater, or at least a Death Eater sympathizer. This woman left whoever the stalker is – and somehow angered Narcissa. I think that she decided to turn in the woman to the Aurors, so she's in Azkaban. The stalker has the right to visit her – and while there he killed Lucius, and now he's out to get the rest of his family."

"And you," Harry added.

She nodded.

"So… we just need to look at the prisoner list and track down all of the women?" Blaise hazarded.

"Maybe. This is just my theory."

"It's a place to start, at least," Neville said.

Hermione smiled at his encouragement and reached into her bag.

"I've rewritten the list, separating the men and the women." She passed out copies to everyone. "I don't know if any of the names are familiar to you – but we should try to research them."

"I'll do it," Draco said, glancing over the list quickly.

"We can split it," Hermione pointed out.

"No. I'll do it. You and Longbottom are looking into Hogsmeade, remember?"

"And the rest of us?" Blaise asked with a smirk.

"Potter – can you figure out a way to get information on visitors to Azkaban? Who is allowed to go, how often… maybe a list of visitors from the last six months?"

Harry frowned, but nodded.

"I'll try."

"And me? Tell me you've saved the most boring and menial task for me. I love a good challenge."

Draco smirked.

"You need to talk to Viridian."

Blaise groaned, and even Neville looked irritated.

"Why?" Blaise demanded.

"Lucius always went for younger, Pureblood women with an interest in the Dark arts. There's a good chance Viridian might remember someone like that, from his days at school here."

"We should ask Prince, too," Hermione said.

Draco nodded.

"I will. I'd like another chance to speak with Snape…" he frowned thoughtfully. "I'll think of something."

"So… you're giving us homework?" Harry asked with a scowl.

Hermione grinned at him.

"Isn't it like a wonderful early Christmas present?"

Harry shook his head in fervent denial.

"I still think we should look into the other names, as much as we can. I could be wrong."

"I can do some of that, at Grimmauld Place. The Blacks kept a registry of everything – everyone they knew and what they were up to."

Blaise and Draco also nodded. No doubt their families kept similar records.

"I can ask Gran to send me Mum and Dad's old files," Neville volunteered.

"Case files?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, they kept their own private records, in case they ever needed to look over anything in private."

"That would be helpful," Draco said, and Hermione could tell he was making an effort to be polite.

Neville smirked, clearly seeing the effort as well.

"So…we've got a plan for the holidays, but what if something happens before?" Harry asked.

"We should take all precautions we can," Draco said with a pointed look at Hermione. She glared back at him.

"I completely agree. Precautions like not surrounding yourself with enemies who want to kill you."

Draco arched an eyebrow at her and sneered.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to go sit with the Gryffindors."

"I was talking about your own house, Draco."

"They aren't going to kill me." He shrugged.

"Nott cursed Viktor," she pointed out. "Any of them could do the same to you."

"And yet they haven't," he growled.

She nodded.

"Because they figured you were already in your place."

"My place?"

"The not welcome place? Or have you forgotten the first night you were here?"

"No, I haven't, Granger. Things change. None of them are going to curse me."

"You can't know that!"

"You're right. It's a risk I'm willing to take, however."

"Just to be with them? Have you really missed being surrounded by people who feed you false compliments because they're afraid of you? Because they want your favor? Have you really missed being able to tell them what to do? Have you missed having people fear and respect you so much that you're willing to risk your life? I'm sorry it's so boring and _safe_ to be around us – to eat with someone like me when you could have Daphne Greengrass on your arm!"

"I'm not doing this for _me_ Granger!" Draco snarled.

Hermione took in his furious stance, the way his hair fell over his forehead in uncharacteristic disarray. His fists were clenched so tightly she could see his knuckles through the skin. She met his eyes, and the anger in them took her breath away.

"Oh." It was for her.

Her realization didn't seem to calm Draco down any, he walked away from her and flung himself into an armchair, his usual grace evident even in the angry gesture.

"Well, I'm not about to start sitting with that lot again just so I can hold Neville's hand." Blaise spoke up, trying to ease the tension. "Sorry."

Neville shrugged, still looking between Hermione and Draco warily.

Harry finally seemed to realize what they were talking about.

"Oh," he repeated Hermione's earlier monosyllable.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Now that we've exhausted the limit of Gryffindor vocabulary, can we return to the subject at hand?"

"Safety. Right. So neither of you get to do patrols on your own," Blaise said, ignoring the angry looks they both shot at him. "In fact, you go together or with Neville or I. No need to risk anyone else's life.

Hermione and Draco exchanged looks.

"We might as well patrol together, for the next while. There's no sense in anyone else risking their life," Hermione said, still looking at Draco.

He nodded in agreement.

"Fine. You two get to patrol together for the next month. Hopefully we can have this thing sorted out before break, if not then _during _break. In the meantime – please _try_ not to kill each other in front of the other students. Not good for morale."

Hermione shot him a look.

"I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

"Good enough." Blaise checked his wristwatch. "Right. Well, speaking of patrols, Neville and I should go. Potter, you want to take this bottle back to Gryffindor with you?" Blaise shoved it in Harry's hands.

"Um, thanks." He looked over at Hermione. "So…"

"We'll walk you out," Blaise said and pulled Harry up by his shirt.

"I can –oh. Fine. Night, Hermione." Harry shook his head and followed the other two boys out, leaving Hermione and Draco alone.

Eventually Draco sighed and looked back at her.

"I'm not interested in Daphne," he said.

"Okay." Hermione didn't feel like fighting with him over this. It was clear that, even if Draco wasn't interested in her, Daphne was interested in him. And Daphne was…very pretty, very smart, and very Slytherin. Nothing like Hermione. She sighed.

"Granger."

She looked over at him. His expression was still tense and guarded, but much of his earlier anger seemed to have left him.

"Draco."

His lips twitched upwards.

"I'm not going to start holding your hand in front of everyone."

Hermione sighed as the now familiar topic came back up.

"But… I wouldn't mind smiling at you in front of everyone."

It took her a moment to register his words. She looked at him, trying to judge his sincerity. He fidgeted under her gaze and she smiled.

"Draco, you don't _smile_," she teased. "You smirk or you sneer. You don't even know how to smile."

"I do too," he argued.

"Prove it," she challenged him.

He rolled his eyes and tried to force a smile. It looked painful. She laughed at him.

"Don't look at me like that in front of everyone. They'll think I've cursed you or something."

"You have," he muttered as he stood up and crossed over to her. He sat down beside her with a sigh and after a moment took her feet into his lap.

She swallowed hard. His voice had been hoarse, and now, as he looked at her, his eyes were dark.

"Draco."

He ran his hands along her feet and calves, not a massage like before, but something much more intimate.

"Granger. I swear to Merlin you are the most frustrating girl I have ever known. Do you seriously think I'd be interested in Daphne when I've got someone like you?"

"Do you?" She challenged even as her breath hitched at his touch.

He smirked.

"You tell me," he challenged as he ran his hands past her knees.

She stared at him, thrilled and anxious at his touch. It reminded her so much of the night he had given her a foot massage, but she was almost confident this would not end with him tickling her.

"Well?" He demanded and jerked her legs towards him even as he shifted, pulling her into his lap.

"Um. What was the question?"

His silver eyes were laughing, and he was actually smiling at her. She reached out and traced the shape of his lips.

"I guess you can smile," she admitted.

He opened his mouth and gently nipped at her finger. The feel of his teeth on her skin, the heat of his mouth, made her shiver.

"Granger, I want you." She could tell he wasn't just speaking in the general sense.

"I'm not – I don't –" she felt her face flush with embarrassment.

The smile left his face.

"Okay, not tonight. It's fine." He reached out and brushed her hair away from her face.

"No, it's not that. I…" she struggled to put into words her greatest fear: that Ron had been right about her, all along. That she _was_ frigid. And now Draco Malfoy would know, and he would hurl the same hurtful, truthful words at her. She closed her eyes. "I'm not very good at this," she said at last.

Draco smirked then.

"Well, it isn't like you've had the best material to work with. Weasley probably didn't even bother with foreplay, did he?"

Hermione bit her lip but shook her head in acknowledgement to that statement.

"Krum?" He asked, his voice quieter, his lips closer to hers.

"We never got that far," she admitted. He smirked again.

"So you're comparing me to Weasley, then? I should be offended." He brushed his lips against hers and she felt electricity race down her spine. He was so smooth and hard, so warm against her. It felt like forever, since they had last kissed, and she pressed against him, deepening the kiss.

Draco pulled away after a moment, his hands cupping her face.

"Someday I'm going to have to thank him for being such an idiot," he said thoughtfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Can we please not talk about him?" She muttered.

"Great idea." He kissed her again, teasing her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth and he tasted her. She moaned as he caressed her, forceful and gentle at the same time.

This time it was Hermione who pulled away.

"Um, maybe we should… go to my room?" She suggested. "I don't think Blaise's heart could take the sight of us _not_ fighting again."

Draco smirked.

"Granger, are you trying to proposition me?"

She rolled her eyes and climbed off of his lap.

"I thought you already propositioned me," she argued.

He stood as well and grabbed her in his arms.

"Maybe. I like it better when you do the propositioning." He leaned his head against hers, his lips beside her ear. "It's so naughty."

The whisper sent another shiver through her and she pulled away, eager to get to the safety of her room. She wasn't sure what would happen if Blaise did walk in – aside from her quick and painful death from complete mortification – but she didn't want him to interrupt this.

Draco followed, keeping one hand on her waist. He closed the door behind them and pushed her against it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's dangerous to invite a Slytherin into your room?" He asked, kissing his way down her throat and pausing to nip at the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met.

Hermione gasped at the sensation. None of this compared to what she had done with Ron – kissing him had never felt as exhilarating as kissing Draco, or Viktor even – so maybe…she decided to stop thinking about it.

"Why? What happens?" She asked.

Draco smiled against her collarbone before pulling away and looking at her. He ran his hands down her sides and caught her wrists. He pulled her arms over her head and leaned in, pressing his body against hers.

"All sorts of bad things," he promised.

Hermione leaned her head forward and captured his lips with her own.

"I'm not scared," she said.

Draco ran his free hand down her neck and lightly over the front of her blouse, just barely touching her.

"Good."

He kissed her again, releasing her hands as he did. Hermione wrapped them around his neck and pulled him tighter. She buried her hands in his hair, enjoying the silky softness of the strands.

Draco's hands worked over the buttons on her blouse, undoing them and smoothing the fabric away to reveal her bra.

Hermione was grateful that had worn her only half-way seductive bra and panties today: a matching set of red, lacy satin that was still serviceable.

Draco stood back and admired the sight he had uncovered. He smirked.

"Granger, please tell me you have matching panties on."

She flushed.

"Yes?"

He laughed and kissed her again and there was hunger in his touch now. Hermione found herself responding instantly. She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down his arms, thrilling in the feel of his warm skin against hers. She broke away from the kiss and pressed her lips against his skin, tracing over the lean muscles of his shoulders and chest. Draco groaned and pulled her back up before she reached his waist.

"Granger, you're a siren. I'm lost to you and I don't give a damn." He looked at her intently as he ran his hands over her bra and down to her stomach. His lips twitched, and Hermione could tell he was contemplating tickling her.

"Don't you dare," she whispered.

He chuckled and reached behind her, undoing her bra and lifting the garment away from her in one smooth motion.

"You're amazing," he said as he reached out and caressed her breasts. "Perfect," he added as he thumbed one of her nipples.

Hermione moaned, the touch so intense and pleasurable and _new_. Ron had never bothered to do more than groper her breasts rather forcefully.

Draco ducked his head and took one of her nipples in his mouth, nipping and sucking at it.

And definitely never anything like that.

He reached down and pushed her skirt down to reveal her red panties. He broke away from her breasts and ran a hand over the waistband.

"These are my favorite," he said with a smirk.

"You've never even seen them before." Hermione's breath caught as he dipped his thumb under the elastic, but he didn't move to pull them off. Instead he used it as leverage to jerk her against him again.

"Sure I have. First night back at school." His hands were fondling her breasts again even as he placed open mouthed kisses on her neck and shoulders. Hermione shivered.

"How?" It was difficult to concentrate on what they were discussing, and she decided to give up. She pulled his head back to hers and kissed him again as she reached for his trousers.

She ran her hand down the front and the feel of his erection straining against the wool thrilled her. Draco groaned as she grasped him through the fabric, squeezing gently before she started to unzip his fly.

Draco kicked the trousers aside after she pushed them down his hips and then lifted her in his arms. Hermione wrapped her legs around his back. His skin was warm against hers and she could feel his muscles shift as he laid her on the bed and climbed over her.

His gaze was intense and Hermione held her breath. He had never looked at her like this before, and it scared her as much as it pleased her.

"Granger, you –"

"Miss Granger?"

They both froze at the sound of McGonagall's voice on the other side of the door.

"What –" Hermione put a hand over Draco's mouth.

"Yes, Headmistress?"

"Ah, Miss Granger, have you seen Mr. Malfoy?"

They exchanged a terrified glance and then Draco rolled away and started to fling clothes onto the bed. Hermione pulled them on, hoping she didn't put his shirt on by accident.

"Not recently, we were studying earlier. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Hermione yanked her skirt up and shoved the ends of her blouse under the waistband. She prayed that McGonagall wouldn't notice, or wouldn't care, that she wasn't wearing a bra. She looked around for her shoes, and then realized they were still out in the common room. She looked at Draco's bare feet.

"Do you know where he might be now? It is urgent that I speak with him."

Draco shook his head at her and Hermione rolled her eyes before stepping forward and opening the door to her room.

"No, I think he might have gone to the library. Is… everything alright?"

"I'm afraid not. I just received word about his mother."

"Is she – did something happen?" Hermione felt her heart grow heavy with dread.

"Yes." McGonagall frowned as she took in Hermione's somewhat disheveled appearance. "The library?"

Hermione nodded. "Shall I go and get him? I can send him up to your office? If this is a private conversation?"

McGonagall seemed to consider it, but finally nodded.

"Yes, please do, Miss Granger. Thank you."

Hermione waited until the witch had left the room before she closed the door and turned to Draco.

He looked to be in a state of shock, his shirt still unbuttoned and his hair falling across his forehead.

"Draco?"

He turned his pale eyes on her, and he looked scared.

"Draco." She crossed to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tightly even though he made no move to hold her back. "It might be nothing," she whispered.

"Or she might be dead," he muttered and pushed her away gently. He buttoned his shirt and tucked it in.

Hermione watched as he combed his fingers through his hair in an effort to straighten it. He drew a deep breath, and after he released it he seemed, once again, to be himself: arrogant and withdrawn.

"I suppose I should go see her now," he muttered as he opened the door.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"No, you can stay here."

"No, I'm coming with you. I'll wait for you."

He frowned and looked ready to argue but then he shrugged.

"Fine. Do what you want."

Hermione found her shoes and put them on, determined to ignore the pain at his indifference. She knew he was simply being his usual self when faced with something he couldn't control. His bastard mask was back, that was all.

They walked to the office in silence and Hermione found it difficult not to reach out to him, not to touch him, in some way. At last they arrived, and Draco waited patiently for the gargoyle to move aside. He disappeared up the stairs without another word to her.

She sighed and leaned back against the stone wall, grateful for the rough, cold stones. She concentrated on the way they felt against her head and her back and refused to think about all the possibilities for why McGonagall wanted to speak to Draco about his mother.

It was nearly half an hour before the gargoyle moved again. Hermione jerked upright when she saw Draco's fair head emerge.

"Draco?"

He jerked his gaze towards her and she took in the furious set of his jaw, his narrowed eyes, and squared shoulders. Something very bad, then.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then he reached out and grabbed her hand in his own, his grip firm to the point of being painful. He started walking and Hermione was forced to follow, having to nearly jog to keep up with his angry pace.

He led them back to her common room, and Hermione delivered the password without taking her eyes off of him, terrified that at any second he would explode with all of the rage he seemed to be holding in.

Once inside he crossed to her bedroom, ignoring Blaise and Neville, sprawled out on the couch and definitely _not_ studying, and slammed her door closed. Still, he didn't speak.

Instead he drew his new wand and put up very strong silencing and privacy wards.

She waited, and watched as he paced the room in angry, quick steps for several minutes.

Eventually Hermione grew tired of waiting – it seemed like he would pace for the next hour without stopping. She put herself in his path and caught him when he nearly collided with her.

"Draco."

He looked over her head, refusing to meet her gaze, but after a moment of silence he wrapped his arms around her.

"My mother was…attacked. They found her this afternoon. She's being treated at the Centre Curatif Magique in Paris."

"Is she…" Hermione couldn't bring herself to ask.

"She'll live," Draco said quietly, into her hair.

"What happened?"

Draco's grip tightened.

"She thinks she was attacked by a Death Eater. McGonagall didn't have many details. I'm leaving, tomorrow morning, to go to her."

Hermione nodded against his chest, expecting that, and yet fearing it. With Draco and Narcissa together, one of them injured, it would be easy enough to finish off the job of destroying their family.

"Promise you won't do anything stupid while I'm gone," he said.

She forced a laugh.

"Like play for you during Saturday's game?"

"Like that," he agreed. "You'd probably hand over the Snitch to the other team."

"You mean that isn't what your supposed to do?" She asked.

They stood in silence for a few moments, but then Draco pulled away.

"Did you want to stay?" She asked, gesturing towards the bed.

He seemed to hesitate, but then shook his head.

"No. I need to pack."

Draco looked at her for another minute and then bent down and kissed her forehead.

"Be safe," he said again, and then left.

Hermione stared after him for a long time before she managed to dress for bed. She decided to forego brushing her teeth and used a cleansing charm instead, she had no idea if Blaise and Neville were still in the common room, but she didn't want to find out.

As she climbed into her bed and stared up at the ceiling, Hermione couldn't shake the thought that something was wrong with this – not just wrong in that Narcissa had been attacked and Draco was leaving to be with her – but wrong in that this wasn't part of the plan. It didn't make sense for Lucius' murderer to do things out of order – not when his notes and threats had been so authentic and well scheduled up until now.

It was wrong, she decided, but even as she finally drifted off to sleep, she couldn't figure out how.

* * *

Sorry, no Blaise that chapter – but he did talk a lot; and it was long enough as it is.


	18. Chapter 18

Another Chance:

A/N:

So… first off, a very heartfelt thank you to everyone who took the time to review this fic. I really appreciated the feedback, especially from those of you who took the time to go through and point out particular faults or pluses. Thank you, again, very much.

As I previously stated in the Chapter One, this is my first fic. That said, this was a sort of experiment to see if I could even manage to create a plot, or characters, that were interesting enough to hold my interest, let alone the interest of others. I view as a site where aspiring writers can sort of flex their muscles. This was, again, my first time, and I would judge it not a complete failure.

However, I have written myself into a corner. I _could_ continue _Another Chance_, but I allowed myself to get a bit off point during these last few chapters, and it's condensed some things and really buggered some others that I had in mind. Essentially, I can't finish it well – or at least not as awesomely as I want, or had intended.

This will no doubt anger several of you – and I apologize. Really, I am sorry, but the benefits of finishing this story are few – I know that you want to see what happens, but I can promise that it wouldn't be written nearly as well as some of the earlier chapters. Further, I think that my character development for some characters has finally caught up with me – McGonagall, for one – and Harry and Ginny as well. I think I sacrificed McGonagall in particular for the sake of the plot, and I'm not sure that was a good choice, especially looking at where the story stands now.

So, suffice to say, I made several mistakes, which I strongly believe are crippling to this fic.

Someday, I'd like to go back and re-vamp this fic and give it another go – I had a decent premise in mind, and I still stand by the need to show the students efforts at recovering from such a devastating event in their lives.

I am, therefore, officially abandoning this fic.

That is not to say that I have abandoned writing fanfiction – just that this exercise is complete. I can write decently well, and I can manage to engage myself and an audience. I have four fic ideas that have been floating in my head since before I began _Another Chance_, and I plan to start on those. I have no plans whatsoever to leave another one of my stories unfinished – unless I manage to ruin it as I did this one, which I don't think is possible. Beginners luck – or curse, perhaps.

If anyone is interested –and I really hope you are, and can forgive me for leaving this unfinished – I will start to post my next story _next _week. I've got company this week, and I still need to perfect the outline before I plunge into it.

SPOILER:

If you WANTED to know what I had planned for Hermione, Draco, and Blaise, you can read ahead. If you want to wait for the months or years it might take me to come back around to this, feel free to do so. Or, if you are so enraged at me, feel free to skip over this as well.

Alright, for those of you who hadn't started to guess yet – and I think only one person actually verbalized their, correct, guess: Professor Smith is, in fact, the man out to end the Malfoy line. He was at school at the same time as Snape, though he was a Ravenclaw. And no, he was not a Death Eater – however, he was in love with one. Layla Ahmad, another Ravenclaw, with a passion for Dark Arts and a burning desire to prove herself to the close-knit, slightly inbred British Wizarding community. Anyway, she and Smith _were_ engaged, but she had an affair with Lucius Malfoy… and fell pregnant. Narcissa found out and, if nothing else, Narcissa really, really wanted to keep the Malfoy line in her control, so she cursed Layla – causing an abortion and in fertility. Layla was driven a bit mad by this, tried to take on Narcissa, only to have Bellatrix step in and curse her – and then leave her for the Aurors to find. So she was sent to Azkaban, where she has spent the last eighteen years slowly becoming more and more demented, pardon the pun.

So Smith has ample reason to go after the Malfoys, and that should explain some of the 'Death Eaters' actions up to this point, including some of his interaction with Hermione. However, he genuinely does LIKE her: so he punishes her involvement with Draco by cursing her, but he also spends time trying to convince her to fall for him. It doesn't work, because Hermione, like most of us, finds his attentions somewhat… unnerving.

Narcissa is fine, by the way, though she was attacked rather severely. When Draco goes to visit her she takes the opportunity to shoot down his budding relationship with Hermione – telling him that she begged the girl to befriend him, and pointing out the still considerable divide between them.

So…Hermione and Daphne become quite chummy (the reason for this, the reason for even introducing Daphne as any sort of character of importance, was to set up their relationship to the sequel for this story).

Draco and Nott eventually reach a truce of sorts: they will hate each other forever, but Draco IS Lord Malfoy. So Draco and Blaise try, in their individual, subversive ways, to bring some of their housemates around to the post-war world. Their success varies.

Ginny eventually has a complete meltdown after Harry leaves her for Luna. She is comforted by someone… who will remain unnamed at this point, because, again, that was a tid-bit for the sequel.

Hermione and Draco never really do find a good balance in their relationship at Hogwarts. Every time they manage to go forward in their relationship something happens to set it back. Eventually the catch Smith, sometime near to Valentine's Day, and he gets shipped off to Azkaban. Draco DOES manage to publicly acknowledge Hermione on several occasions, but it's a little bit too late. They continue to have a relationship of sorts in private, but by the end of the year they have had a series of arguments and revelations that causes them to break it off.

Prince has gotten a position with the Sorbonne, and asks Draco to accompany him and continue his apprenticeship – and Draco does, at the end of this story.

Blaise…. Poor guy. He gives it an honest go with Viridian. After his blow-up, he and Viridian are on uneasy terms for weeks, until Viridian manages to convince Blaise to open up and try to start healing himself. So he does. He's still juggling Neville on the side, mind, and finds that he is actually able to be happy, and a bit more sane, around the Gryffindor boy.

Anyway, those three try to have a threesome on Valentine's, at Blaise's suggestion. It is a complete disaster. As in…. AWFUL. Viridian and Neville both refuse to let things continue as they have been. So Blaise wanders in a funk for a while, but eventually decides on….. actually, that's part of the sequel too. So, can't tell you.

And this whole business with the sequel: I actually came up with THAT story first, but felt the need to work on the back story for it, hence _Another Chance_. I strongly feel that the kids would have been unable to engage in fulfilling, mature relationships right after the war, or right after Hogwarts, for that matter. So the sequel picks up nine years(or so) down the road, when everyone has had the chance to have their hearts broken a few times and to become an adult, and more importantly, their own person.

The sequel can stand alone – as in, I plan to still write it and you won't have needed to know the complete version of _Another Chance_ to enjoy it. I hope that you will give it, and me, another chance.

Thank you again to everyone. And, if I may say: Over six hundred people are read EACH chapter of this story, this fic was on 106 alert lists and 68 favorites. And I had 164 reviews…. While I am grateful to have ANY reviews, it would have been nice for more folks to drop a line and offer encouragement or criticism.

Again, I'm sorry that I didn't finish this – but, for me, I really DID finish it. Thank you and please watch out for my next fic – which, sadly, won't be the sequel. That comes _after_ the next fic.


End file.
